The Miranda Incident
by Shada The Cardie Dukal
Summary: 2352. The newly-minted first-tier Gil Hissar receives his long awaited assignment on a Galor class cruiser. However, he soon realizes that he has boarded the wrong Galor. To make the situation worse, the Cardassian ship encounters a Miranda class vessel in the Beloti sector and tough decisions are to be made on both ships…
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Notes and Spoilers: The chapters refer to events and settings in "Terok Nor: Day of the Vipers" by James Swallow and "Terok Nor: Night of the Wolves" by S. and Britta Dennison, as well as information on Memory Alpha and Beta concerning the Border Wars. The food, the flora, the fauna, and the units of time and distance are consistent with the "Terok Nor" trilogy and "Deep Space Nine" episodes.

Chapter 1

In loving memory of my father. He lived in interesting times. He really appreciated the geopolitical irony…

For Cardassia!

2352, Cardassia Prime

The sturdy Cardassian woman was standing against him, her arms akimbo, and was mentoring. After all, she was a primary training inquisitor, it was a professional bias, "How many times should I remind you, Aslan – a list and a good memory is much better than just a good memory. If you store everything in your memory, it will look like your father's shed where he keeps various tits and bits but nothing valuable and what's more, he never knows where they are."

Aslan grinned while listening to another below-the-belt blow she had just dealt to his father's obsession with his greenhouse. The guy was a landscape designer and kept an extensive collection of plants in his greenhouse. The adjacent shed harbored odd gadgets that made sense only to him. Officially, it contained tools and equipment but in fact, no one really knew – it was a study, archive, tool and sample store and a small laboratory but first and foremost, a place where he escaped from reality for hours on end.

"Salima, I know exactly where everything is…mostly. In fact, the whole place exists in a state of dynamic self-supportive chaos which I successfully manage." Then he turned to his son, "Aslan, if you happen to land on some planet with vegetation, don't forget to take soil samples, vegetation, seeds. You can put some specimens in a herbarium but I would rather you keep them alive in pots until you return."

The young man chuckled, "Dad, this is not a botanical trip, it is a patrol mission close to Federation space. We don't land anywhere…"

This was going to be his first important assignment after he had graduated at the Academy the year before. He had been patrolling on a Hideki fighter ever since but only on routine missions within Cardassian space. Now he was to join the crew of a Galor class cruiser as a junior tactical officer and a pilot if necessary.

The young Cardassian did not come from a powerful family, he came from Indar – a poor province of Cardassia Prime badly affected by persistent droughts and sudden heavy storms drawing in from the ocean. He had busted his ass to graduate first in his class, the peasant boy from Indar. None of his relatives was in the Guard, they were ruined farmers, scientists, teachers and Militia soldiers. His elder brother had joined the Militia and got killed on Bajor five years ago so Aslan decided to be the first in the family who would serve in the Guard.

All poor regions of Cardassia traditionally supplied the Militia with fresh blood. It had been like that from time immemorial. The girls remained at home to marry and to look after the house, the parents and the children and most of the boys joined the Militia because the Guard was unattainable to them. Aslan really wanted to prove that he was no worse than the guys coming from Culat, Lakat and Senmir on the main continent. These provinces constituted the most prestigious and influential part of the Cardassian society and most officers in the Guard came from them.

He waved the list he had quickly drafted on his pad. Not much of a list but he hoped that the web of written characters would appease his mother and she would not check it. Unfortunately, she had too much experience with shrinking, cheating children so she simply wrenched the padd from his hand to have a closer look and exclaimed, "You call this a list! Half of the items you have to put in your bag aren't there. What would your superiors think of you if you write such a report? I didn't raise you to be sloppy…"

The newly-minted first-tier gil Aslan Hissar started vindicating himself half-heartedly because he knew it was pointless. She had caught him red-handed. "Mum, my superiors expect me to make tactical decisions, to plan attack and evasive patterns, to operate weapon arrays, to fly fighters. Writing reports is not the highlight of my job specification."

"Exactly, and you can't even plan how to pack your things," the inquisitor masterly refuted his feeble excuse.

"Love, why don't you leave something for the Federation? If you finish him off now, who will they attack?" his father butted in mockingly.

Hissar regarded them amused wondering once more what twist of fate had brought them together. They were as different as night and day – in fact, he had never managed to fathom how they got attracted to each other in the first place. His mother was preaching bossily, her glinting black eyes darting between Hissar and his father who both manifested a dire need for reprimand and correction.

She was robust but not very tall in stature and tanned – the traditional pale gray was replaced by beige mat complexion. Her jet-black long hair held in a traditional voluminous mass of tails, curls, and braids added at least three inches to her height. Her eyeridges were prominent with a beady texture and inclined upward, the highest part giving raise to firm brow ridges slanting sideward. They gave her a fierce and dramatic aspect as though she had knitted them. Her countenance accommodated well her withering sense of discipline and duty.

Aslan's father used to say that the scantiness of vegetation in the region could be partially ascribed to Salima because where she set foot, the grass never grew again. He was a dreamer, unpractical and full of good-natured naughtiness. Hissar senior was not a native of Indar and belonged to another ethnic stock. He came from a small town in the Valley of the Hebitians and was thin, lean and tall like the ancient Hebitians. That was why the Hebitians disappeared because they were scrawny like you, Aslan's mother would say.

He had the prestigious light-gray complexion and blue eyes. As a young botanist and genetic engineer, he had moved to Indar to take part in some big project for irrigation and soil-reclamation. Due to budget cuts, the project was soon abandoned and his department was assigned to develop defoliants to be used as chemical weapons.

The botanist resigned, he loved plants too much, even alien plants, and accepted a position much below his educational status. He became a landscape designer in Indar – planning parks, gardens, ponds and planting a vegetation belt around the city to stop the climate extremities.

In his spare time, the landscape designer developed fertilizers, irrigation systems, and hydroponic installations for the local farmers who had not given up fighting the harsh weather conditions. He was good enough to be the head of an important scientific institute in Lakarian city or Cardassia city receiving lucrative, high-priority military projects, but he preferred pottering in his greenhouse full of native and alien plants, flowers, and even small trees.

The funny thing was that Aslan's highly ambitious mother respected his choice and never nagged him about the fact that they lived in a village in the outskirts of Indar and did not cultivate influential contacts. Whenever Hissar junior asked them how they had started dating, his father would smile shrugging his shoulders helplessly and explain that his mother was the only local girl capable of speaking standard Cardassian so the choice was limited. His mother would say that she took pity on him and did not want him killed and eaten by the packs of stray riding hounds roaming the vicinities of Indar.

Aslan himself was a quite successful combination of them both. Physically, he looked like his mother, not very tall, about 6 feet but he had a lighter bronze complexion and had inherited his father's ridges – delicate and graceful with ropy fine texture. Still, in terms of neck, he took after his mother's side and after 5 years of military training, he needed the biggest size of armor because the others were too tight in the shoulders and the base of neck.

At the Academy, the young man got keen on martial arts, which the other cadets snubbed because only the infantry was supposed to encounter aliens at close quarters. The Guard flew ships; they did not touch smelly, sweaty mammals. The other optional subject he took was xeno-linguistics, which was a strange choice for a tactician. Communication officers were taught languages, in their line of duty they encountered data in different languages and had to know how to adjust the matrix of the universal translator.

He did it because of his mother who used to say that another language was another way of thinking. She spoke Klingon and enjoyed their operas and Hissar and his father often wondered whether they would get it easier if she did not speak Klingon. Aslan, who was observant and curious like his father, really enjoyed the social and cultural studies, the facts about etymology and customs. He could read and understand Federation standard and Bajoran but he was not sure he could speak them because he had never encountered a Federation citizen or a Bajoran.

The young Cardassian chuckled inwardly while looking at them – he wanted to imprint this picture forever. His grumpy mother making a fuss over his duffel bag and his father pretending hard to consider the whole thing an adventure. Everybody knew that it was not. The death rate among the Guard was not as high as among the Militia but still…

As a remainder of this sad truth his sister and sister-in-law, his brother's widow, entered the room together with his nephew and niece. Larel, a 7-year-old boy, named after his grandfather, scurried to him touching his polished armor in admiration, "It looks great, I want to wear such when I grow up."

His sister-in-law flinched uncomfortably and looked out of the window. Hissar downplayed the armor, "You know, it is very uncomfortable and makes me itchy but the girls love it."

Larel's elder sister Elsha, aged 9, teased him, "Who will let you wear armor, you are a coward. You are afraid of the gettle grazing outside the village."

"I'm not afraid…I just don't want to disturb them," Larel yelled defensively at his sister.

Elsha turned her attention to her uncle and asked innocently, knowing very well that this shiny armor meant that Aslan was going to say goodbye to Garita, the girl he hoped to betroth, "Uncle Aslan, are you going to town?"

"Yes, indeed, I was planning…" he muttered, he really did not feel like having his feelings for Garita discussed. He knew it was almost hopeless but he continued out of habit and because he could not figure out whether it was Garita or her parents who urged her to avert his advances.

"And could you bring me some candies, please?" the little, shrewd girl fluttered her eyelashes.

Her mother intervened tersely, "Yes, he could. And he will give them straight to me and you will have no more than one a day."

Hissar's sister Rivela helped him out, she worked as a nurse in a hospital in Indar, "My shift starts in two hours, let's go to town together." They took leave of their parents and the children and Hissar promised to bring them sweets. They headed for the transport hub to wait for the public skimmer that was to come in 10 metrics.

His sister, lean and slender, looked more like their father but she had inherited the same fiery temperament as their mother. Hissar senior always joked that they had to import another timid, harmless Hebitian so that she could marry him and dominate him happily ever after. She fixed her gray eyes on him and hit on the soft spot, "I can't understand you. Garita is such a flippant, coquettish girl, her family doesn't like you, they made it clear that they want something better for her. Why do you persist?"

Hissar shook his head, he was really sick and tired of vindicating his choice. It was simply that he was too proud and too stubborn to give up at the first sign of obstruction. Besides, he liked pissing off her snobbish parents, this was what they expected him to do – to run home crestfallen and humiliated.

"Because if someone gave me a lek anytime when they told me something was impossible, I would be so rich that her parents would be very happy to date their daughter."

Rivela produced another argument, she would really hate to see his brother with a broken heart because of that cheap bitch. Although she was two years younger than Aslan, she understood it was a matter of social stratification and a poor gil was scarcely the best option for a clan which preponderated the local administration. "She will never wait for you, Aslan. On your next home leave, you will find out that she is dating a prosperous merchant or an administrative clerk. This is what her family wants her to do."

Then she suddenly changed the perspective, "It is better for her, too. What can you give her apart from your shiny armor? Children that see their father for two weeks every year and possibly a military allowance if they kill you…" It was cruel, she knew it, but she was a down-to-earth person and believed that sometimes one had to be cruel to be kind.

Hissar waved his hand trying to ward off her blunt sincerity, "Look, Rivela, we have already discussed that. I really want to enjoy my last day here."

The skimmer was coming, they got on and kept talking about insignificant trifles. One never knew who was listening at public places.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Hissar was approaching the military base at Mekisar outside Cardassia city where the crews and troops embarked and disembarked. This was where he had to join the crew of CUV "Morlok". He drew closer to the checkpoint booth and stepped through the sensor arch that read the indent plate fused into his armor. He presented his padd with his assignment to the sentry. The sentry requested him to put a thumb on the scanning device and then he blinked at the blue pulse ray that verified his retinal profile.

Having his identity confirmed the sentry glanced at his padd and informed him, "First-tier gil Hissar, go to lounge 27 to meet your dal and the other recruits. Then he eyed Hissar curiously and mumbled, "You are the third gil that has been assigned to that vessel this year. What did they do to the previous ones?"

Hissar grinned at him while taking his padd, "Probably they promoted them to glinns?

The sentry's lips curved into a wry smile. "Probably, but not likely."

Still grinning Hissar left the sullen sentry – nothing could spoil his enthusiasm. He was about to be on the bridge of a real Galor, among real seasoned officers, on a real mission outside Cardassian space. The sentry was jealous. He headed for lounge 27 with light, springy steps.

He came in and saw several infantry soldiers and garreshes and a perky tall woman, a gil, in fact, chatting in one of the corners. He knew the gil from the Academy, her name was Jorvan, they were in the same graduation year but she was a communication officer. They exchanged nods and he moved to the other end of the lounge where a scruffy-looking sour dal had ensconced himself behind a desk, tautening his long legs next to the desk. The desk was full of padds, the assignment orders of the new recruits, Hissar inferred, and he busily read and entered information.

His hair was too long; it exceeded the length prescribed by the military regulations by at least 2 inches. It was not combed and slicked back very carefully, some wisps were falling over his temples. His boots and armor sported a patina of caked dust and the armor gave way to creased sleeves and shabby trousers loose at the knees. He looked as though he had slept with his boots and armor on.

Nevertheless, Hissar approached the desk cheerfully and barked, "First-tier gil Hissar reports on duty." The dal lifted his eyes to him and the young officer saw they were reddish and brimmed by dark furrows inside the ocular ridges. The guy had definitely had some booze.

He managed to focus on Hissar and husked tiredly, "Dal Zabor." Then he gestured absently to the chair next to his desk and said, "Take a seat, boy."

The gil sat down hiding his bristling at being called "boy", wondering at his name. It definitely rang a bell; he had a classmate called Zabor. But that Zabor was a clever ambitious boy, there was a rivalry between them and Hissar had to work hard to beat him. The dal reached for a glass of hot rokassa juice and Hissar noticed that his hand was trembling while lifting it to his mouth. He took a sip and enounced, "I am in charge of you, I am the tactical officer."

The young officer was disappointed – this lousy wreckage was the person to evaluate him, his future and career depended on him. He acknowledged the information with a curt nod. Zabor was obviously trying to cope with a terrible hangover but still noticed Hissar's dissatisfaction and sighed, "I was like you, boy, 15 years ago I was like you. I hope you will be something better."

Then he leaned forward propped his elbows on the desk and grated, "Now, let's go down to business. I deal with the gul, don't look at him, just look down at your console or at the bulwark. Speak to him only if he addresses you, as curtly as possible. Better, report to the glinn or me, I will pass the information."

"Yes, Dal," Hissar confirmed his understanding, wondering why addressing the gul should be such a big issue. At least the wreckage could give clear, honest instructions. Then he gathered himself and asked, "Dal Zabor, who is our gul?"

Zabor leaned back and gave Hissar a long amused stare. Then he answered, his tone dripping with irony, "Our gul is gul Sartan of the 7th order. Have you heard of him, Gil?"

"No, Dal, I haven't," Hissar warily replied, he did not know how to place the dal's behavior.

"Well, we have the highest rate of crew turnover in the Guard." He paused, chuckled bitterly and added, "People don't last long there. I have lasted for 15 years because I am made of Cardassian steel."

"Yes, Dal, I see," the gil quickly consented assuming the guy was a wacko, a result of the long-term alcohol abuse. Did the Guard allow such people on the main bridge?

The dal continued, "Whatever it happens, shut up, whatever he tells you, just stare over his shoulder, do you copy that?

"Yes, Dal, I do," Hissar had to admit that the nutty epitome of Cardassian steel showed genuine concern about his survival.

Then the dal glanced at Hissar's padd and exclaimed, "Martial Arts and Languages! May Hunger take them, next time they will send me someone who took folk dancing and bone carving as optional subjects."

Three hours later Dal Zabor beamed his recruits onto a Hideki fighter and ordered Hissar, "Take the helm, gil Hissar." The young officer was grateful he did not address him as "boy" and placed himself behind the helm controls. Then Zabor turned to the communication officer, "Gil Jorvan, take the communication console, contact the traffic control, and request a departure clearance." The comm officer executed the order and the clearance came.

The dal instructed Hissar, "Set a course on coordinates 32-79. Maneuver on thrusters in the transport perimeter then engage the impulse engines at ½ forward. Our ETA is 30 metrics." The guy was quite efficient, Hissar thought, he must have been good before… Before what? Before spending 15 years under gul Sartan? No, it was impossible, he certainly had some personal reason to be like that.

They approached the Galor class cruiser and Hissar felt his stomach tighten into a knot. It was so big and impressive hanging in the space like a sleeping sea monster. The dal growled from the acceleration chair behind him, "Approach shuttle bay 4" and turned his attention to the comm gil, "Open a channel to the ship and hail them." She performed the task and the reply came immediately.

"Glinn Reglan, CUV "Morlok" of the 7th order," a grim face appeared on the screen, blinking nervously. "Dal Zabor, welcome aboard," the sad face lit up a bit.

Zabor smiled at him, "Thank you, Glinn. Daddy is home. Inform gul Sartan that the new recruits for the bridge, crew and infantry are with me."

They landed on the shuttle bay, the platform sank down, and few metrics later the dal led them to the bridge. Hissar suddenly felt frightened and depressed, it was in the air, he could sniff it. The furtive glances they received from crewmembers while passing the corridors, the loaded silence in the turbolift, the wooden schooled gazes.

They entered the bridge and Zabor commanded them, "Line up. Bridge officers and crew recruits on the left, Militia on the right. Remember what I told you." Then he headed for the gul's office, running his hands over his unkempt limp hair. There was something strange in his walking, Hissar observed, it was not the clipped movement they had practiced for hours on end during their marching drills. He was walking with a long loose-limbed strut full of nervy nonchalance and defiance. He was a hefty man, well over 6 feet, how could he turn himself into such a miserable clown?

Ten metrics later gul Sartan came out of his office and stopped in the middle of the steps leading to the bridge, his gaze sweeping over the consoles, the bridge officers, and the recruits. Hissar sensed that the air suddenly became thick with tension, it was difficult to breathe in. The dal was standing behind him with a sullen mien scratching his hair like a big mangy riding hound that had just been kicked by his master.

The gil forced himself not to look at the gul but then he dismissed the thought, it was ridiculous, he had to see who his gul was after all. The gul was a small feeble-looking man of no more than 60 years. His skin had an unhealthy yellowish pallor and everything about him was insignificant. Under normal circumstances, Hissar would have to trip over him in order to notice him – he could be anyone, a transport operator, a public skimmer driver, or an anonymous technician repairing aircon systems. His mother had a thicker neck than he had. The small man thrust his chin forward, assumed an air of dainty disdain, and moved to them.

"Now let's have a look at what dal Zabor has brought in. Having in mind his apparent lack of taste and manners I should not expect much," the gul spoke in a cackling, high-pitched tone. He waved to the infantry glinn who was in charge of the new Militia recruits and signaled him to lead them away. Hissar could not believe it. According to the protocol, the gul of the ship was supposed to introduce himself and welcome his new personnel, even the infantry assigned to his ship.

Then the gul moved to the left and stopped squarely in front of Hissar, who glanced at him hesitantly. Zabor beckoned him behind the gul's back to lower his gaze and Hissar dutifully stared blankly at the bulkhead behind the gul.

"Aren't you part of the infantry? I have just dismissed them," the gul raised an eyeridge in a feign surprise.

"No, Gul," Hissar curtly replied.

The gul clasped his hands behind his back and started circling in front of Hissar, speaking loudly so that everyone can hear his harangue, "So they allow peasants to join the Guard. Where is this nation going? When I was a child, we used to have a butler from Indar and now I have a tactician."

Zabor meaningfully lifted his index finger in front of his lips reminding Hissar to remain calm and silent. The gul passed by Hissar and stopped in front of Gil Jorvan. "Now tactician from Indar, if we continue this thread, you are probably a deaf and mute comm officer. What are you doing in the military in the first place? Are you barren, too?"

"No, Gul," the young woman answered, looking at his boots.

He kept walking past the line of garreshes throwing in caustic remarks with Zabor gesturing vehemently behind his back. Finally, he turned to Zabor and spat scornfully, "Next time you will bring a herd of gettle on the bridge, you bag of crap." Zabor only bobbed his head enthusiastically. Then the gul waved his hand forgivingly, "Still, I can't blame you, they let gettle into the Academy." Suddenly he turned on Zabor and hissed hysterically, "You stink of kanar, mongrel. What did you do down there all night long?"

"Drinking, Gul," Zabor admitted unblinkingly, not even trying to come up with an ostensible excuse.

The gul obviously liked the answer and waved his hand disparagingly, "At least you don't lie to me…" and commanded him while walking to the helm, "Round up your herd to their quarters and instruct them what to do." He ordered his aide, "Glinn Reglan, set a course to the Beloti sector, engage to warp 6, calculate the ETA. You have the bridge."

Hissar threw a stealthy glance at the gul who was walking up the steps to his office. His orders were unprofessional, he had to give some coordinates, Beloti sector was too indefinite. He had to calculate the ETA by taking into consideration the coordinates, the warp factor and the distance. Unbelievable, he did not present himself but managed to insult everyone on the bridge.

Dal Zabor showed him to his quarters and continued down the corridor accommodating the other recruits. Hissar was choking with fury, he really had to know what that was. Was it a penal ship, were these people ex-cons or demoted blunderers? The dal was an alcoholic, the aide – a spineless cowed creature, the gul was arrogant and cruel. He had not imagined his service in the Guard that way.

He stood at the door of his quarters waiting for the dal to pass by on his way back. The dal strode up and when he saw the young officer at the door he quickly figured out that the boy needed some explanation before he did something brave and stupid. He stopped next to him and enjoined him in a most formal manner, "Gil Hissar, take your padd and follow me to my quarters in order to receive a copy of the regulations applicable to this vessel."

They walked to one of the adjacent corridors where the dal's quarters were. It was quite tidy, considering the scruffy owner, but it was small and austere. One would assume the first officer of the ship to have better accommodation. The dal winked at Hissar and stated pompously, "Welcome to CUV "Morlok", Gil Hissar. Here is a copy of the regulations concerning the protocols and procedures on this vessel. I expect you to memorize them and observe them impeccably on any occasions."

While saying this he took a tricorder and started scanning the walls, floor, table, bunk, bathroom, and 'fresher. After checking the whole place deca by deca he added perfunctorily, "The first part of the regulations prescribes general rules of conduct on the vessel and the second part covers the assumed protocol for bridge officers and tacticians." He quickly activated several emitters, put them in all corners of the room, and slumped on the chair with a heave, "So, boy, it is not what you expected."

"No, Dal, it isn't," Hissar retorted crisply.

Zabor spotted his indignation and chuckled sadly, "Speak up. Now you can say whatever you want. The room isn't bugged and the emitters create a field that makes overhearing and recording impossible."

Hissar did not know what to ask first – about the gul, about the crew, about the crew turnover, about the appalling atmosphere on the ship and he summarized it, "What is wrong with this ship?"

The dal's smile widened, his grayish eyes sparkling. The boy reminded him of his younger brother – sharp, inquisitive, and full of illusions and hope. Too bad for him – another wasted man. He drawled, "You put it well, Gil, very comprehensively and eloquently, this undoubtedly comes from learning languages. Well, everything is wrong with this ship."

Then he looked at his wristcom chronometer and said, "I have to instruct the new recruits," and he scratched his unruly hair coming from behind his ear and added, "And I need a shower. Why don't you unpack and see your quarters? You can come in 40 metrics, we will have dinner and talk it over."

Hissar nodded his consent, returned to his quarters, and started unpacking. It was not much. The last thing he took out of the bag was a holopicture of his family. He put it on the table and sat on the bunk staring at it. He recalled how happy he was several hours ago but everything he wanted now was to run back home, lock himself in his father's greenhouse and stay there forever.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Forty metrics later, he was standing at the door of his dal's quarters. The dal opened, his hair dripping, with a towel around his neck and shoulders, wearing a sleeveless top and tracksuit trousers. "Come in, Gil, look at the replicator and choose something," he invited him informally. Hissar was quite embarrassed – he was not supposed to see the second in command semi-naked wearing flip-flops and a tracksuit. But since everything was wrong on this vessel, he concluded that this was the least problem.

Hissar ordered his meal while the dal was rubbing his hair with the towel in order to dry it more quickly. He seemed quite relaxed and moved around confidently opening and closing commodes and putting away clothes, armor and personal belongings, as though he owned the place. Well, he really owned it, he was at home, Hissar corrected himself. This place had been his home for 15 years. He bent his huge gaunt frame and picked up a bottle of kanar from a crate under the bunk. He obviously bought it large.

Still he was in an awfully good shape for a drunkard. No body fat, only muscles and sinews on long bones and impressive ridges. In fact, Hissar felt dwarfed and plump next to him. He had to be from the main continent like his father. Bathed and sober, he could be hired for a model in the recruitment clips that ran over the public screens. "Join the army, do your duty, serve and protect Cardassia, be one of us." And very tall and handsome soldiers proudly smiling and marching with their phaser rifles. He had this slow way of talking with a prominent "r" sound and Hissar expected him to be from the South East.

It would be inappropriate to start the conversation with a complaint or criticism, so the young officer ventured diplomatically, "Where are you from, Dal?"

Zabor answered quite readily, "I am from Lakarian city."

"Oh, that is interesting, I have always wanted to visit it," Hissar pointed out politely.

"Yes, you should. Cardassia city is just an administrative hub but Lakarian city has soul, character, and history," Zabor explained vividly. He obviously liked the topic and inquired, "What is Indar like? I haven't been there."

"Well, not as glamorous as on the main continent but we manage. It is calm and rural. The weather is quite unstable, we have rainstorms coming from the ocean and then heat waves," he stopped himself, he did not want to twitter trivialities.

The dal was listening carefully raising an eyeridge when Hissar mentioned the rainstorms and said, "Our weather is mostly dry, we have short rains and they evaporate very quickly." He added in a reverie while ordering his meal, "It is great when you go jogging in the outskirts very early and you see the dew and then the sun starts heating the plain, and you can smell the moist coming out of the soil and stones."

The senior officer kept the small talk rolling, "Tell me about your family, Gil. What do they do?"

"Well, my mother is a primary training inquisitor…" Hissar started and the dal laughed while filling the glasses. They looked at each other, nodded and took a sip.

The dal observed, "This sure takes a load off my mind, if you can survive living under a primary training inquisitor, then you will probably survive on this ship."

Hissar tried to smooth over the facts, "She is not that bad unless she catches you shrinking from duty."

The dal smiled at his attempt, "In my family it is the opposite. My father is a Militia man but he rose in the world and became an ordnance officer in the Lakarian Central Command Building. He was really fixated on that – to see both his sons in the Guard. What about your father, Gil?"

"He is a botanist and a genetic engineer, a dreamer obsessed with plants," the young tactician explained.

The dal nodded his understanding, "Yes, I know what you mean. My mother is an actress in a local theatre. Not very famous, but she likes it and she is very vain. She makes a great fuss when they don't cast her as a 20-year-old beauty."

Hissar got engulfed in the conversation, it was the most beloved topic – their families – and they would not see them soon. He asked, "What about your brother, Dal?" and then it suddenly dawned on him and he burst out, "Hey, your brother must be Igon Zabor, he was in my class!"

The dal beamed up proudly, "Yes, he is exactly your age, 24, and after his graduation he was stationed on Terok Nor as a pilot of shuttles and Hideki fighters. When I saw your name on the recruit list, I was curious whether you are that Hissar who beat him. He really hit the roof when he graduated second…"

The gil almost regretted graduating first, if the big brother decided to make his life difficult for overshadowing his little brother…The dal waved his hand depreciatingly, "I told him he placed too much importance on study, the really important lessons you learn the harder way, hit and trial."

"Bajor," Hissar spat, frowning, "My elder brother jointed the Militia and got killed on Bajor five years ago. I guess that was why I decided to join the Guard. For him."

The dal nodded sympathetically, "Yes, I see. The Militia troops always see a lot of action. The casualty rate there is the highest."

The young officer was curious about the dal, he stroke him as a cheeky troublemaker, "Are you married, dal?

The dal smiled dryly as though the answer was self-evident, "No, I am not. We don't get shore leave that often and it is two weeks at the best. But I like alien females…" He gave Hissar a wink, "You know – Farians, Kobliads, Boslics, Rigelians, different species, the bars near the main cargo routes are full of them. And the best part is that you don't have to marry them in order to …you know."

The younger Cardassian was shocked, "Alien females!"

The older guy shot him a knowing look, "Accept it, boy. You can't get laid on Cardassia unless you are married. And the girls and their parents expect you to be a gul at least in order to betroth them. So there are holosuites and alien females for you and me."

He was right but Hissar felt obliged to defend Cardassian women, "My brother got married…"

"To a humble girl who didn't expect too much," Zabor snorted finishing his sentence and griped, "But Lakarian beauties expect quite a lot." Then he laughed, "Hey, do you happen to have a sister?"

Hissar smiled back imagining Rivela wiping the floor with that dude, "In fact, I do, Dal, but I have to warn you she is everything but humble. In fact, she can eat you alive."

The dal squared his shoulders, his neck bulged with defiance and retorted cockily, "She will have to sweat for this. I am made of Cardassian steel." Both guffawed. The dal refilled the glasses and let out a sigh, "Now let me tell you about this ship."

He started haltingly, "Our gul is not a gul, technically speaking, he is a former Obsidian."

Hissar exclaimed, bewildered, "An Obsidian in the Guard?"

"Officially, he is not a member of the Obsidian Order but practically…They often send us on assignments for the Obsidians," the dal clarified dryly.

The gil could not grasp it and gave the dal an expecting look. Zabor shook his head while watching his reaction and continued, "It is not only that, it's quite complicated. His father and uncle were both high-ranking operatives in the order. He joined the Bamarren Institute and as a first-level student became part of a team developing a psychotropic drug causing euphoria, it was supposed to be given to the Militia before ground attacks. They experimented with several formulas and in order to keep it secret used students from the institute as test subjects. So he got hooked on it. In fact, I get shore leave to bring him the substance."

Hissar was staring blankly at Zabor, whatever he said, it would be inane, the facts were too shocking. The dal was quite satisfied with his reaction, he was listening and analyzing, without outbursts of indignation and rage. He resumed, "At some point his addiction became too much of a trouble for the institute so he was made to leave it, and he loitered around as a minor operative on military vessels. Fifteen years ago the Obsidians saw an opportunity to place him by coercing, threatening and blackmailing, he attended an advanced course for officers at the Academy, was transferred to the Guard and was given this ship."

Hissar deliberated the information and pointed out, "Why don't you file a complaint with the Central Command, he violates all regulations for behavior on military ships."

Zabor smirked mirthlessly, "There had been seven investigations on this vessel, there had been suicides, PTS cases, open insubordination. Several young gils like you filed complaints with the Central Command. It turned out that their military records had been so stained that their complaints never received credibility, they were discharged and then…disappeared. Besides, some strange things started happening to their relatives."

He looked Hissar straight in the eyes, gathered himself, and spat, "Practically, the gul owns us. He can arrange for each of us to disappear without a trace and our families will suffer, too. This is how he controls this ship."

"What about the Central Command? Can't they do something?" Hissar tried to probe into all aspects of the situation.

The dal took a sip and allowed, "Probably they can but they don't want to rock the boat and disturb the balance between both structures. Officially, the Obsidian Order does not have access to military equipment but they have the ways and means of bypassing it."

"In other words, the Central Command is ready to sacrifice us in order to keep the Obsidians happy," Hissar observed baffled at the intricacy of the circumstances.

"Indeed, and what is more, even if you leave this ship and the Obsidians don't kill you, your dossier will say that you are remiss, a poor professional, a sloppy drunkard." Then he smiled sadly and admitted, "Well, the last is true for me at least. With a dossier like this they won't take me even as a security guard at the Lakarian amusement park."

"But how do you manage to cope with that on an everyday basis?" the younger man could not imagine what was like enduring that every single day and not being able to do anything about it.

Zabor shrugged his shoulders and spelled it out, "As you probably has noticed, the gul doesn't know anything about navigation, warp factors, ETAs, tactics. Dalin Makar is in charge of the engineering – in fact, we envy him because the gul rarely goes to the engine room and the warp core. Glinn Reglan is our conn officer and gul's aide as well and together we manage the ship. Sartan's fits of euphoria are quite nasty, but usually I take the impact and he vents everything on me or poor Reglan. Tomorrow the dalin will give you emitters, you will install them in your quarters, and you will be fine."

"So he is addicted but how does he tolerate your…kanar?" Hissar could not understand why a gul should put up with someone's imperfection no matter how imperfect he might be.

"Oh, he adores my drinking and my scruffiness," Zabor giggled scornfully, "He feels a better man when he insults me and tells me what an excuse for an officer I am. Besides, it diverts him from tormenting someone else." Then he added with cold contempt, "On the other hand, he doesn't deserve anything better, so I don't polish my armor and boots deliberately and I don't cut and slick my hair very much."

"Have you thought of applying Proviso 37?" Hissar suddenly said.

Zabor laughed heartily, "I have been waiting for 15 years to apply Proviso 37 but recently I have lost hope." Proviso 37 allowed the ranking officers on a vessel to arrest and restrain their gul if he/she acted irrationally, was delusional, or his/her orders threatened the territorial integrity and the political stability of Cardassia.

"It seems to me that he presents you with all necessary conditions for applying it every day," the gil observed.

The dal grinned at him sardonically, "Sure, how perceptive of you, we will return to Cardassia with a raving Obsidian confined to his quarters and he will exterminate us and our families the moment he leaves his quarters. Other brilliant ideas?"

Hissar had to admit that he was right – seven investigations had not been enough to force the Central Command to take measures. He could not understand how Zabor had got a whiff of all these details about his gul. They were highly unflattering and private and people usually made everything possible to keep them secret. "I was wondering how you learnt all these things about the gul. This information is quite…sensitive."

The dal frowned while gulping what was left in his glass. He practically had not touched his meal and functioned on kanar and adrenaline. "Some of the things he told me himself, others I have put together during the investigations. When the euphoria phase of the drug wears off, he becomes dizzy and sleepy and feels like talking so he calls me on the carpet first and then he rambles in memories."

His expression saddened at the recollection and he remarked, "I don't know what disgusts me more – his arrogance on the bridge or the intimate pieces of his desolate life. He didn't become what he is now just like that, for overnight, it took him years."

"You said there were investigations," Hissar gently prodded him to continue, mulling over the depths of Sartan's misery was of no avail.

Zabor refilled the glasses again, Hissar had never drunk so much kanar but he could not turn it down, he had to continue the conversation. "When we were investigated, there was a guy on the investigation board, Gul Larvan. He used to be a Legate once but he opposed the Federation conflict, he believed that we had to seek a diplomatic solution because fighting the Federation was beyond our scope."

The gil bobbed his head in confirmation, "Yes, I know him, he was one of our inquisitors, he taught strategy and political studies."

Zabor resumed, "Exactly, the hawks in the Central Command arranged his fall from grace and he was sent to the Academy to keep him out of the way. When I spoke to him, I was left with the impression that he was likely to do something. So if the worst comes to the worst, bear that in mind." Hissar shivered at the last words, they sounded like a shri-tal confession, as though the dal expected to die soon and was giving him all the useful information he had.

The dal took a bite of food and invited the gil who had eaten his portion, "Do you want some more? Order something else, I have plenty of rations left. I never manage to finish them up."

Hissar had always had a good appetite and he ordered a Larish pie, feeling guilty because he had not done his exercise program this day. "Do you have holodecks, Dal? I would like to keep my shape," the young officer inquired lightly, the grim topic had drained him of all his prowess.

Zabor affirmed with a wry smirk, "Yes, we do. One of the perks of being an Obsidian vessel. Not all Galors have them. I like going there too but I am into swimming. A swimming pool with hot mineral water like those in Corvon." Then he took another bite and asked, "Do you know the new comm gil?"

"Yes, I know her but not very well, we were in different classes. I really felt sorry for her, then on the bridge," Hissar admitted.

Zabor raised his eyeridges and remarked matter-of-factly, "He treats everyone that way. What bothers me is that I haven't had a female officer and I don't know how the gul reacts to females. If he only insults her, everything will be fine but if he decides to check for himself whether she is barren or not…"

This thought had never crossed the gil's mind, sexual harassment on a military vessel was out of question. Still, having in mind this vessel, he quickly inferred what the dal was worrying about and offered, "I can keep an eye on her, I am the only familiar face for her here. I can tell her that if the gul makes advances to her, she is not alone."

Zabor fell in quickly with his suggestion, "Yes, this would be nice. I already told her that if someone tried something inappropriate, she had to report straight to me and I would take care."

The young officer took a bite of his Larish pie, he really didn't feel like talking about the gul, going in circles around the problem would not solve it. Still, he did not want to finish the conversation abruptly, the guy was a generous and polite host. So he decided to brighten it up somewhat. "You know, Dal, I was wondering about these bars on the main cargo routes? How did you go there?" Actually, he wanted to ask about the alien females but the topic was too embarrassing.

The older officer snorted derisively, his voice loaded with regret, "I used to serve on a freighter as a cadet, and for 4 service quartiles after that, they offered me to stay there but I wanted to be on a Galor. I was such an idealistic idiot, it was the dream job – no risks, 10 percent of each cargo run is for the gul and he shares it with the crew, off-world perks and goods, some small smuggling, home leave after each long cargo run. You see different places and species, it is interesting."

Curiosity took the better part of Hissar and he stuttered eagerly, "And what about these…species?

Zabor inferred what Hissar was trying to say and gave him a cunning knowing stare. "Well, after the third glass you don't care what species she is, as long as she has the basic female anatomy and after a whole bottle you even love her."

"Are they very different from us?" the gil asked, the unmentionable already mentioned.

"No, in fact, they aren't. You like some of them better than others, you hope to find your favorite next time when you go there. They don't have ridges and scales, at least not like ours, most mammalian females are soft and smooth like silk. And their skin is warm, their body temperature is higher than ours."

The gil kept fishing for information, he had always wondered what it was like, to be with a woman, "And what about Cardassian women?"

The dal shrugged his shoulders in dubiety, "There are several programs featuring Cardassian women, I really can't find much difference, still I prefer the real thing, doing it with a light bulb seems quite…unnatural."

Then the dal admonished the curious youngster mockingly, "Hey, what have you and my nerdy brother done at this Academy for five years? You, swotters, could have boarded some freighter now and then to visit the big spaceports in Arawath, Regulon or Chin'toka but you didn't even go to the holosuites. Do you think that life is only ETAs, target distances, and missile trajectories? Where is this youth of today going?"

Hissar looked away and smiled uneasily, the dal was right. He had rarely left the campus barracks, he had rarely made the time to do something else apart from his assignments, he had not mingled with the other cadets, he had expected they would snub him so he was resolved never to give them an inch.

"Well, I have to admit that I haven't thought of that," Hissar conceded, still feeling awkward.

Zabor just waved his hand and produced another drunken critical revelation, "I am sure you haven't. One day we will disappear as a species because of our social hypocrisy and decorum. The Feds and the Bajorans will kill all prim good boys like you and our dainty, picky women will keep pressing their thighs together waiting for Mr. Right."

Hissar could not keep a straight face at the last deep social insight – it was nasty and obscene but it was true. In fact, he perversely toyed with the idea of passing Garita to this indiscriminative, unscrupulous wastrel, after the guy had gulped a whole bottle, he would not notice the difference anyway. The little manipulative bitch really deserved someone who would treat her as an alien hooker if she could not appreciate his honest intentions.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Two days later

Hissar was behind his console and they had just entered the Beloti sector. The gul had not graced them with his presence yet, so the atmosphere on the bridge was calm. He turned to the comm station behind him to check on gil Jorvan. She was a tough girl, doing her job as though nothing had happened.

He heard that Jorvan addressed the glinn, her tone laced with agitation, "Glinn Reglan, our mid-range sensors have just picked up Federation readings on coordinates 69-23. They must have picked us up, too, this is pretty close to our present course." The glinn peered at her console to verify the information and looked at the dal who was behind the console in front of Hissar.

The dal contacted the gul and reported, "Gul, we have picked up Federation readings and they must have picked up ours as well."

The gul's frantic face popped up on the screen and his piercing voice came out of the PA system, _"Drop to impulse speed and scan actively. Take a course to the Federation vessel."_

The dal confirmed, "Yes, Gul," and shot Hissar a worried look after the gul had disconnected. He ordered Reglan to drop out of warp and head for the coordinates of the readings at ½ impulse speed and instructed the comm gil, "Keep scanning, pay attention to their energy readings, Gil." He directed the glinn, "Flash the second-degree alert, possible confrontation with a hostile vessel."

When the alert signal started flashing, the gul trotted briskly down the steps and frothed at Zabor, "What are you doing, stupid? This mission is secret. Now the whole ship is flashing like a carousel in an amusement park."

"Gul, this is the standard procedure when we approach…" the dal replied convincingly.

"Don't tell me what is standard on my ship, you are the last person to talk about standards!" Sartan cut him off angrily and shouted at glinn Reglan who winced and stooped, blinking nervously, "Turn off this alarm, it makes me sick!" The glinn obeyed his order and the gul stormed back towards his office.

A metric later the computer announced, _"Activation of level 9 protocol applicable to the universal translator on the vessel and sending and receiving messages."_ In other words, the gul had decided to keep his bridge officers and the crew in the dark concerning the communication exchange with the Federation vessel.

Glinn Reglan shook off the shock, his lanky body returned to a more relaxed posture, and started activating the menus of the main console with his long careful fingers. He was meticulous and diligent to the point of compulsion, he really deserved a gul who would appreciate his effectiveness, Hissar thought. Unfortunately, he did not have Zabor's cockiness and each collision with the gul brought him to a small-scale nervous breakdown.

When Reglan accomplished his diagnostics, he informed the dal, "Dal, we can use all scanners and the navigation is not affected, either. Still, our ability to send or receive a message is invalidated here and on the secondary operation centers."

The dal nodded acknowledging the information and looked at the screen where the Federation vessel had acquired shape. "This is a Miranda class vessel, smaller and presumably less armed then the Constitution class," he ascertained and told Reglan, "Glinn, ¼ impulse forward, circle loosely around them, do not press them." Then he instructed the comm gil, "Gil, scan for large energy sources around the hull. Try to locate their weapon arrays, shield generators, impulse systems, warp drives, sensor and comm arrays."

Hissar suddenly got an idea, he was still analyzing the communication silence imposed on them. "Glinn Reglan, can we intercept an incoming speech message together with the stream of technical readings from the scanners and then isolate it from the remaining data?"

The glinn nodded, somewhat worried, "Yes, it is possible." He had checked every inch of the wall paneling for bugs and all bridge officers started their shift with an anti-bug sweep of their consoles and the adjacent space but still…

"Glinn, permission to speak," gil Jorvan animatedly butted in. "Yes, Gil, go ahead," Reglan sighed and Zabor and Hissar looked at her expectantly, too. "With reference to gil Hissar's question, I would like to point out that the incoming message would be in the form of a binary code while the rest of the data would be mathematical progressions. It can be restored to its original form and the parser program is not disabled, it is part of the operational module that processes the data from the scanners and sensors and it is in the main engine room." Then she looked at Hissar and hinted, "I speak Klingon and Romulan, Gil."

Zabor quickly inferred what the gils were suggesting and contacted dalin Makar, "Dalin, keep a constant watch over the stream of incoming data. Search for a binary code and when you get it, run it through the module processing the data, restore it to its original form, and send it to me no matter what it looks like."

Captain Sergey Tupolev was sitting in his acceleration chair on the bridge, scrutinizing curiously the Galor class ship. He had seen reconnaissance captures of them but watching one of them for real, approaching him languidly was a rare chance. Despite its best efforts, the Starfleet did not know much about their technical potential, maneuverability and behavior in battle situation. The design was appealing and functional, he could not help but admire it.

One of his predecessors was Andrey Tupolev, the founder of the Russian aircraft engineering and avionics, and just like him, he had been part of the team developing and testing the prototype of the brand-new Galaxy class cruiser. Unfortunately, just like his famous progenitor, he had the unhealthy propensity for making political enemies.

His cynical and sincere style of speaking, peppered with thinly veiled disapproval of Starfleet affairs and policies, had earned him the nickname Old Shattermouth and had turned him into persona non grata among the big tycoons in the San Francisco Headquarters. Because of his last clash with a hot shot at a reception at Utopia Planitia, he was assigned to a small insignificant Miranda vessel carrying supplies and assisting in small scientific missions.

His practiced eye evaluated the slick graceful movement of the Cardassian vessel and he truly liked the design, it reminded him of a manta ray. The sixty-odd-year-old, tick-set Russian addressed his tactical officer, a stout Afro-American man from Louisiana, "Shields up, Commander Sanders, no need to make it easy for them. They have to woo us first and invite us to dance." He ordered his conn officer, a male Vulcan, "Lieutenant Tivak, give them a wide berth, show them that we don't want to attack but we aren't going to leave."

Finally, he instructed his comm officer, a Betazoid woman, and the Andorian science officer, "Lieutenant Argona and Junior Lieutenant ch'Vart, scan and probe everything you can – impulse signatures, particles in their scanning rays, polarity of their deflector shields, the alloy of their hull, possible arrangement of their decks and major systems. It doesn't matter how trifle it may look – just record it for further analysis. This is a golden opportunity, they are as secretive as the Romulans."

"Dal, they are scanning us actively, our shields can muffle it. They won't get much," Gil Jorvan reported.

Zabor nodded and observed, "Well, they are quite polite, they moved away, making it clear that they don't want to attack."

The young woman continued "Their shields are quite strong too so we aren't going to get much, either. There is a lot of energy in that round superstructure so I guess this is where their main armament is situated. There are 3 energy spots on the upper part of the saucer as well as at the bottom and they may contain openings for additional torpedo launchers or phaser banks. The long protrusions behind the saucer are their warp nacelles. The main bridge is at the top of the saucer with a subspace comm array below it. The primary sensors are at the bottom of the saucer. The rectangular structure behind the saucer must be their engineering and command module, it has strong energy readings. The impulse system is immediately behind it. I located an aft shield generator that protects their impulse and warp systems."

She hesitated, she wished she could be more precise but this was the best she had managed to sift from the blurred images and readouts coming from the sensors. She ran the risk of an educated guess, "The rest of the ship's hull is protected by a dense grid generated by emitters which must be powered by the impulse system or the command module because I don't locate other big energy clusters."

The dal hummed, considering the information and contacted the engineer, "Anything about a binary code?"

"_Nothing yet_," the answer came.

"Change the beam lengths and the particle and frequency patterns of the scanning rays and apply different sensor array filters, try to establish which configuration could penetrate their shields best," the tactician briefed him.

Gul Sartan felt the surge of anxiety and uncertainty flowing through him while observing the vessel. His hands were shaking, he experienced breathing difficulties; the alarm had already shattered his nerves. He took the hypospray and injected a doze into his jugular vein, he needed it in order to concentrate.

After half a metric he took a deep breath, the tremor stopped and he focused on the immediate problem – how to handle the situation. He sighed and contacted the insolent drunkard, hoping he would come up with a plausible course of action. What was this temerarious scumbag for?

"Dal Zabor, report on the current situation," he demanded, while observing the bridge.

Everybody was working with their heads down, not daring to look at the screen apart from the dal who looked at him cheekily, _"Not much to report, Gul,"_ the nerve-racking undisturbed drawl came, _"As you can see they stay at a polite distance but they aren't going to leave. They definitely don't want to attack…"_

"Anything about their armament?" Sartan's skin prickled with impatience while the mouthy son of a bitch was wagging his tongue.

_"__Nothing, Gul. We keep scanning but everything is blurred and we need time to…"_

The gul cut in, "Save your breath, our scanners and sensors are enhanced, you know that very well."

_"__Yes, Gul, they are, but their shields are too strong. My preliminary estimation is that their armament and fire power match the Constitution class but they are slightly smaller,"_ Zabor concluded and suggested glibly, _"You know what, Gul, why don't you contact them, that way you will gain a tactical advantage and will show them that you have the situation under control."_

This was the only thing that really made sense – control – that was it. Sartan happily signed off and contacted the Federation vessel full of vigor and chemical enthusiasm. "This is CUV "Morlok". I am Gul Sartan of the 7th Order. Identify yourself and state your intentions."

Hissar and Jorvan exchanged puzzled looks – the dal was withholding information and lying. Reglan blinked anxiously and looked at the dal.

"Captain, they are hailing us," the comm officer reported.

"Put it on screen, Lieutenant," the captain said. They saw a Cardassian who looked quite unimpressive compared to the holo-archive of guls and legates Tupolev had seen. The only thing that drew his attention was the hollow bravado of his posture, as though the guy was pretending to be something he was not. His eyes were glazed, bulging with glassy glitter under the eyeridges. Still, the captain did not know the body language of this species well enough to jump to conclusions so he filed his observation for a later consideration. The voice he heard was the voice of the translator.

He listened to the lead-in and introduced himself "I am Captain Tupolev, this is Starfleet vessel NCC – 1372, USS Notre Dame. We carry supplies for our outposts and map."

The gul leaned forward threateningly, or at least he thought it that way, and inquired, _"Where are your outposts?"_

The captain felt disappointed, the guy was a cheap version of the Cardie cliché. He explained airily, "We have many outposts. In this sector we supply Starbase 214, I suppose you are familiar with it."

All at once the gul puffed out his armor, jutted out his chin and stated pretentiously, _"As a senior representative of the Cardassian Union in this sector I have to inform you that this sector belongs to the Cardassian Union and your presence here counts as an infringement of Cardassian space. You have 5 metrics to set a new course and leave the sector."_

Dalin Makar looked at the strange string of signs and listened to the alien gibberish that the processing module spat and shook his head in dismay. The translator was disabled all over the ship. He sent it to the dal hoping that he knew what he was doing. He definitely had the nerve and the brains to play a dangerous game with the gul.

Zabor tapped his console and looked at Hissar to catch his attention. The gil approached it and started translating, "The captain's name is Tupolev. The vessel is called Notre Dame. They supply outposts and map." He moved to the next paragraph, "They have many outposts. They supply outpost 214. They expect we know about it." Then he inferred, "He must have asked something about the location and number of their outposts."

Zabor sneered, "And he expects that they will send him a list with coordinates and their best wishes."

Another incoming message from the dalin was blinking on the console and Zabor opened it. "The captain expresses his respect for our gul and asserts that they can't comply with our gul's demand because this sector hasn't been claimed by anyone yet. He states that he has the right to be here as much as we," Hissar translated.

Zabor nodded, his expression suddenly grim. "Yes, we may not like it but the captain is right. Our tactical genius obviously hopes to claim a sector with one ship." Hissar apprehended the impending trouble, too. Claiming a sector was a long and carefully planned process. It usually involved several fat guls or legates carrying out grudging negotiations with local pre-warp primitives or greedy intermediaries. The next step was to build a Nor-station and to deploy a fleet and keep it for at least 10 years until the Feds got the hint and went to explore the stars in another sector.

The young officer worried that the gul might open fire on the Feds and cause an incident that will provoke the Federation to increase their presence in the sector and to retaliate against all Cardassian border colonies and vessels. "Dal, can he open fire himself, without ordering us to do it?" he asked, his voice trembling.

The dal confirmed sourly, "Yes, he can, but he can't calculate the trajectory of the missile, the distance, he can't aim, he doesn't know what to target – their vital systems."

Hissar speculated, "He probably told them to depart but I don't think that they will do it. So what do you suggest?"

Zabor answered, while peering at his console, "I suppose he gave them an ultimatum and as far as I know him it is no more than 5 metrics." Then he deactivated his console and signaled Hissar to do the same. "You will reactivate it on my mark with a false military code," he hushed him. The consoles were to be started by entering the military code of the user so only the officers assigned to them could activate them. They were inaccessible if a wrong military code was entered and remained inoperational.

The Federation ship was lazily floating around them. Dalin Makar reported, "Dal, I have tried several particle patterns and beam lengths but none of them seems to be particularly effective. Until we find a way to disable their shields, we can't scan them properly."

Zabor listened to the information and instructed him "I see. If the gul contacts you, tell him that the level 9 protocol partially disables other systems including our own scanners and sensor arrays, by default." Then he added, "Dalin, today is as good a day as any…"

Makar acknowledged the order. So that was it, the right time has come.

Hissar was listening to the conversation keeping an eye on the dal waiting for his order to reactivate. The last thing he said was strange. Then Zabor met Reglan's piercing gaze and repeated, "Glinn, today is as good a day as any…" Reglan blinked several times, it was a tic, and nodded. The realization hit the gil – one way or another they were going to apply Proviso 37.

The gul appeared on the screen above the bridge and ordered, "_Dal, aim the frontal disruptor array at the Federation vessel and fire on my mark!_"

Zabor shot a quick glance at Hissar while reactivating his own console and replied with faint agitation, "Gul, the tactical consoles are inoperational, I have just received the reports from the stations. We barely navigate around them, the engineering established that the level 9 protocol partially jams our own scanners and navigation. Probably it hasn't been installed properly and it affects additional systems…"

The gul disappeared and Hissar inferred that he was contacting the dalin to confirm the information. Zabor nodded towards Hissar's console and said, "Now the real one." He made a broad gesture indicating that the gil had to produce a blast that would go closely over the Miranda-class ship.

A metric later the computer voice announced, "_Abortion of level 9 security protocol, standard level 7 operational mode restored._ " The gul shined on the screen again and asked, "_Do you have control over the console, Dal?_"

"Yes, Gul, I am aiming, I have locked on them," he answered busily.

"_Fire!_" the hysterical shout screeched and Zabor nodded to Hissar.

"What are we going to do, Sir?" the tactical officer impatiently asked.

The captain gave him a smug look and said, "Nothing, Commander, we will keep dancing and stepping on each other's toes. I think the gul is bluffing but the bluff is very cheap. I would tell him that we were the avant-garde of a big convoy which would be in the sector very soon."

He suddenly got an idea. The artificial glaze in the gul's eyes, the plastic euphoria and the theatrical arrogance of his mannerism did not get out of his mind. He addressed his conn officer meekly and persuasively, because what he was going to ask her was not ethical, "Lieutenant Argona, I need your help as a friend and colleague."

"Yes, Captain, any time," the Betazoid woman answered readily, flattered and full of doubts at the same time. You did not need to be telepathic to guess what this proem meant. Still, being on the bridge with Tupolev was worth it, he was a legend, everything he said was quotable.

"I would like you to disable the translator and replay the message. Watch the gul, listen to his real voice, and tell me what you…feel," he incited her gently.

The woman smiled at him indulgently and pointed out, it was only a token demur, "Sir, I have to warn you that this is against the regulations. Besides, my abilities are stronger at face-to-face interaction."

A lot of her colleagues considered her a witch and avoided her because they assumed she could invade their minds and learn embarrassing facts. It did not work like that, she was empathic, her abilities were quite rudimentary, she could pick up intentions, states of mind and hidden emotions but not thoughts or events.

"You don't violate anything, my dear. I am just asking you for your personal opinion, off the record," Tupolev chortled fatherly. Things like political correctness, gender and racial issues never seemed to bother him.

The women he liked were honeys, my dears and sweeties and those who he did not like were bitches and hags. The men fell into two categories – buddies and lads and respectively – jerks and fagots. The Afro-Americans were simply black people, the Bolians and Andorians were blue people, the extra terrestrial entities were little green men, the politicians were bastards, the administration was a red tape nuisance, and Catch 22 ruled the Starfleet.

She replayed the message, the guttural barking and hissing of their language coming from the PA system. "So, what do you think, speak your mind, Lieutenant," the captain cajoled her.

"Darkness, loneliness, fear, shame, remorse, bitterness, self-pity. It is…painful, sir," the Betazoid shook her head to shunt the unpleasant emotions.

Commander Sanders squalled, "Captain, they are locking on us!" The disruptor blast blazed over their upper hull and the ship trembled with the interference between the shield polarity and the disruptor wave. Immediately after the blast, the yellow manta hurled forward and passed them from behind using the moment when their shields were overtaxed and the systems were resetting and assumed a new circling course.

"This was high," the officer said, out of breath, "Do they aim that bad?"

The captain shot him a hard look, "Calm down, Commander, they didn't become the fourth major power in the quadrant for aiming that bad. I think they are in two minds what to do."

Then he ordered sternly, "Fire a proton torpedo, aim for the tail.

"Sir, there is nothing vital there," the tactician kicked.

"Exactly, that's the point. I don't want to hurt them. Just a warning that the play is getting rougher," Tupolev clarified determinedly, looking at the screen.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

The gul came out of his office and stood next to Zabor's console "Did you hit them, Dal?" he inquired eagerly.

"Yes, Gul, we did but their shields are holding on," the dal replied nonchalantly.

Hissar spotted a change in the energy readings of the Miranda's roll bar, glanced at the screen, and announced quickly, not sure who to address, "Incoming torpedo at our starboard, possible target area the aft cargo holds."

Zabor instructed Reglan, "Glinn, spin us, full stop of the right impulse engine, ½ forward on the left, helm hard about starboard."

Reglan's fingers ran over the console for a split second.

The ship shuddered with the reversal, the readings of the gyromagnetic stabilizers approached the red zone, a low droning came from below and Hissar reported, "It passed us".

The gul shouted hysterically, "Dal, fire at them again…" but he did not finish the sentence. Zabor quickly stepped back as though to check the information on Hissar's console and wrapped his left arm around the gul's feeble neck, jerking his right hand behind his back at the same time. Reglan quickly grabbed the gul's phaser from the belt holster, tucked it into his own belt, produced a pair of handcuffs and locked them behind his back.

Zabor spat tersely, "With the power vested in me by the Cardassian Military Code, I apply Proviso 37. Your irrational behavior threatens the territorial integrity and political stability of the Cardassian Union." The gul was too shocked to react but now he grasped it although he could not believe that someone on this ship could be stupid enough to expect that they would get away with it.

They were dead, they simply did not know it yet, so he squeaked venomously straining his neck ridges to gaze at Zabor who was pushing him toward his office, "You, piece of shit, idiot, you apply what…Why don't you have a glass of kanar to clear your perspective? I will exterminate you, all of you and your families, everything…"

The gul felt the metal grid under his boots disappear and Zabor's clutch around his torso hardened. "No, Gul, you won't," the tall officer snarled in his ear while he was dragging him to his office as though he was carrying a bundle of rags. They entered the office and the door closed behind them.

"We don't have a hit, their sensors are pretty good, they spotted it the moment we fired it," Commander Sanders reported disappointedly. Then he looked confusedly at his captain "I don't understand, sir, they don't do anything, they don't return the fire, just keep circling."

A thin smile was forming on the captain's lips; he still admired the evasive maneuver he had just witnessed. Most tacticians would try to increase speed giving the torpedo plenty of time to pick up the fresh signature and follow it. They disengaged the propulsion next to the torpedo and spun so the torpedo was left without a fresh trace to pursue. He shifted his attention to his officer's remark and observed, "Something is going on, something that they consider more important than us." He ordered his bridge crew, "Keep circling, watching and recording."

"With all my respect, sir, but if they are disoriented and insecure probably it is the best time to attack them in earnest," the tactician stuttered. He could not understand the calm curiosity that had beset the captain in the middle of a confrontation.

Tupolev smiled, went to the replicator in a slow and ostentatious manner, and ordered, "A Russian tea." He took the beverage and returned to his acceleration chair. The other two officers sneered inwardly anticipating what was coming – a geopolitical analysis that was going to shake the foundations of the Federation values. The Vulcan's pointed ears were twitching with curiosity. He loved listening to Tupolev's logic, he was so honest and sharp for a human being.

The captain sipped at his tea and started, "Commander, are you familiar with the Cold War that took place during the second half of the 20th century? Sanders wanted to win at least once, he could not grasp why should everybody admire and respect a demoted wrangler who did not care about basic social axioms.

He answered calmly, reminding himself not to loose his cool and let the cunning old man provoke him, "Well, we discussed it at the Academy but military history has never been one of my favorite subjects. Some countries had zones of influence and were threatening each other."

"Exactly," the captain vividly confirmed, "One of these countries was my country and the other one was your country, Commander. Three centuries ago, we were adversaries. Some of your great-great-grandfathers probably encountered one of my predecessors on some plane or submarine. If their nerves had frayed, if someone had been too trigger-happy, we wouldn't be here now, having this conversation."

Sanders could not argue, he was not familiar with the technicalities, besides the captain had not said anything politically or socially unacceptable. "So you think the present situation is the same as during the Cold War, we will threaten each other, but there won't be any skirmishes?"

"I hope so, Commander, and I hope that the guys on that ship think the same," Tupolev sighed, shrugging his shoulders.

Zabor hurled Sartan onto his chair and went to the emergency medical kit on the wall. He took a pair of close fitting surgical gloves and put them on. Then he strode purposefully to the chair, tugged at the gul, made him squat next to his desk, and pressed his fingers to the sensor lock of the bottom drawer where the gul kept the drug. The hypospray was on the desk. The dal took a whole vial, loaded it in the reservoir, and drew closer to the gul, his face grim, "You know what, Gul," he sounded almost caring, "This yours is not much of a life, I don't hate you, I feel sorry for you. You are an embarrassment even for the Obsidians."

The gul realized what was coming but did not say anything, he was not going to make this clown happy, pleading with him was worse than dying. He was so accustomed to being the one who set and bent the circumstances that now when the odds had turned against him he could do nothing but accept it. He was going to lose and in fact, he felt too tired and ruined to muster a genuine emotion even about his own death. Besides, he fully realized it was pointless, he was a trained Obsidian operative and had spotted the gritty determination in Zabor's behavior.

Zabor grabbed hold of his hair to restrain him and the gul just shoot him a cold, scornful look and whispered, "Do you have the guts?"

The dal just frowned slightly while adjusting the hypospray on his jugular vein and emptied the vial, in one long, steady shot. The gul's neck bulged, he hissed "You…lousy…traitor," a convulsion ran through his body, he gasped for air and then slumped in the chair. Zabor forced himself to meet his last gaze, he thought he owed him that, he was killing a fellow Cardassian and a superior.

The officer unlocked the handcuffs, took the vial out of the hypospray, rubbed it well in Sartan's fingers and loaded it again. After that, he adjusted the dead man's fingers around the hyposparay and rested his limp hand on the lap. The dal knew that his own DNA was everywhere in the room but that did not bother him – he entered Sartan's office at least five times a day. Besides, he was not going back to Cardassia, the decision crystallized in his mind, it was too risky for his family and his brother.

He was the ranking officer of the ship, he knew too much about the gul so the Obsidians would get him and subject him to an interrogation. No one could resist and survive an Obsidian interrogation, he was as good as dead if they laid their hands on him. And when they managed to squeeze everything from him, they would arrange accidents for his parents or they would simply pick them up at night and no one would see them again. Finally, they would make sure his brother's career was ruined beyond repair.

Then he thought about his crew, he realized that they should not come home empty-handed. If they had something valuable, the Central Command was likely to stand for them and protect them, welcoming the riddance of the gul.

The dal stuck the handcuffs under his armor, took off the gloves and put them in his pocket and spoke in his wristcom, "Medic Verak, come to gul Sartan's office immediately. The gul has taken an overdose of some substance and is dead, I am afraid." A metric later, the medic came and Zabor instructed him on leaving the office, "Prepare a detailed report, take blood samples, examine the body, keep the evidence uncontaminated. There will be an investigation in his death."

The medic nodded his acquiescent, put on a pair of gloves, and opened the sample kit. Zabor returned to the bridge and repeated blankly, "I regret to inform you that our gul has taken an overdose and is dead." No one said a word, everybody watched the dal, their expressions petrified, then a subtle smile appeared on Reglan's lips but that was all.

Zabor quickly became all business, approached Hissar's console and ordered, "Gil, aim at that roll-bar and concentrate our forward and dorsal weapon arrays on it. Only the roll-bar, no hull breaches. The superstructure is detached from the main hull so the shield must be weaker there. At the same time I will operate the side array and target their warp nacelles in order to prevent them from jumping to warp."

He looked at Reglan and told him "Glinn, be ready to increase to full impulse speed after the first volley and fly behind them. Don't dive or go over them, they might have additional phaser arrays. Then slow down to ½ impulse and be ready to return for the second volley on my mark. However, they might be able to jump to wrap so be ready to follow them."

The glinn acknowledged the order and Hissar reported, "Ready to start on your mark, Dal."

The dal said curtly, "Fire!"

Commander Sanders shouted, "Sir, they are locking on us, their energy readings are changing!" Tupolev snapped, "60% of the power to the aft hull generator!" Then he ordered the Vulcan "Helm, warp 4!" They felt the shock wave of the disrupor blasts and the vibration of the torpedo hits coming from behind.

Tupolev inferred that they had guessed what the superstructure was for. That was touch-and-go, he thought, if he had not protected the warp nacelles, the shock of the spiral wave disruptors would have rendered the warp core temporarily ineffective, giving them plenty of time to shoot at the superstructure.

When the acceleration pressure leveled up, he stood up and went to the tactical screen. "How many changes in the energy readings have you detected, Commander?" he calmly inquired.

"Several sir, I have seen that their frontal and dorsal weapon arrays got activated…" he trailed, anticipating trouble.

The captain showed him a small line on the monitor. It was about the energy readings of the side disruptors. "According to this line, three of their side disruptors got activated at the same time as the frontal and dorsal arrays."

Sanders felt like sinking through the floor, he was so busy to monitor their main armament that he had forgotten to pay attention to the secondary arrays. "Now, Commander, don't worry, I don't blame you, but let's think – what does that mean?" the captain asked, with mocking generosity.

"It means that they can use their main and secondary arrays simultaneously, I guess," Sanders floundered, he really did not know how to save face.

"Yes, that is obvious," the captain countered his attempt and kept urging, "But who operates them? Can you operate all our arrays simultaneously all by yourself?"

"No, sir I would need a junior officer to help me and to…" it suddenly dawned on him, "Sir, there are two tacticians, working together with good timing.

"Exactly. They expected that our attention would be on the main arrays and we are likely to neglect the secondary ones. And they almost succeeded. This speaks a lot about their way of thinking." The captain seemed so happy with the intelligence of his adversaries that Sanders wondered whether he really realized that this was not a game of chess.

"Hissar reported the obvious, "Dal, they have jumped to wrap. I suggest…a warp tow."

The dal quickly ordered, "Glinn, bring us to warp 2!" "Gil Jorvan, scan for their warp signature and report to the glinn." Then he instructed Reglan, "When you spot the ship, bring us to the same warp factor." Then he diverted his attention to Hissar and asked quietly, "Do you realize that the shearing forces that exist between both vessels can disintegrate our SIF and we can be ripped at the seams?

"Yes, dal, I understand this but there is a way to reduce the shearing force to an acceptable risk. If we recalibrate our warp core to mimic their warp signature, hull tension forces, vibration patterns and space factor distortion…Then we lock a tractor beam on them in a give and take fashion, not a dead pull, and hurl them out of their course, each time to an opposite direction. They will be forced to drop to impulse speed and will probably have serious problems with their navigation system. Then we can easily target the roll-bar."

The dal scratched his head, considering the plan, theoretically, it was possible, but he had not heard of being put into practice, "It sounds grea, but I don't know whether it will work." Still, his job was to make decisions not to entertain doubts so he quickly contacted the chief engineer, "Dalin, recalibrate our warp core to match as closely as possible the readings that the helm and the comm station will send you." He nodded to Hissar, "Proceed."

Glinn Reglan announced, "Dal, permission to switch to warp factor 4, we have picked up their readings."

"Go ahead, Glinn."

"Dal, we have the data for the re-calibration. I am sending them to Dalin Makar," the comm gil reported.

"We have the ship on screen," Hissar said and quickly calculated the distance between both ships, "Dal, permission to switch to warp 6 for 1 metric until we catch up with their space distortion."

"Permission granted, Gil," Zabor assented and nodded to Reglan to execute the order – they had gone too far to hesitate.

Dalin Makar reported, "_I have come up with 87.5% of match between the readings of the Federation vessel and our readings. Will that be enough, I can probably achieve higher percentage but I need more time…_"

Zabor did not have the time, this match had to suffice, "Yes, Dalin, it must be enough, besides we don't have the time. Just make sure they don't drop any further during the tow and keep an eye on our SIF. If it falls below 60%, inform me immediately. We won't get any data if we blow out at warp." Eventually he glanced at Hissar and confirmed his order, "I hope you are right, proceed."

"Sir, they are directly behind us," Commander Sanders shouted, his eyes rolling with terror.

The Vulcan conn-officer calmly informed the captain, "They have locked a tractor beam on us…" Tupolev managed to say, "Follow the beam!" and the first pull of the beam hurled them to the left. Then the pull disappeared and while the conn-officer was trying to compensate for the g-forces in the hull by simply navigating in the new direction, another pull hurled them to the right.

The gyromagnetic stabilizers whined in protest, the whole ship started shaking. "Sir, our SIF is currently 60%, another hurl will decrease it to 40% and the risk of hull breach is too high…" Lieutenant Tivak looked expectantly at the captain.

"Drop to impulse speed!" Tupolev ordered, it was better to have a ship after all.

"Sir, our navigation system is overloaded, the gyromagnetic stabilizers and the inertial dampers have burned out. We can't jump to warp again and our maneuverability at impulse speed is severely impaired," the account of the conn-officer was as impartial as though he was reading the weather forecast. Tupolev really liked this Vulcan. Much better than the hysterical tactical officer.

"Dal, they have just dropped out of warp and are drifting at ¼ impulse," Glinn Reglan reported, glancing at Zabor.

The dal nodded and instructed him "1/4 impulse speed, circle around them within our fire range" He directed the comm officer, "Gil Jorvan, monitor their weapon array readings, they are cornered and may try something stupid." Finally, he turned to Hissar, "Gil Hissar, aim at the roll bar and fire at will, if it holds on – repeat." The tactician executed the command and the second volley blew the superstructure away. Zabor ordered, "Gil Jorvan, hail them, and put it on screen!"

The Starfleet captain appeared on the screen, his gaze raking through the alien bridge. He did not see the gul, this was strange. There were three men and a woman, and they returned his searching look.

One of the men, the tallest one, with an air of a rogue, introduced himself, "I am Dal Zabor, the ranking officer."

"A change in command?" the captain meaningfully observed.

"Yes, sort of," Zabor smirked and then assumed a most determined attitude, "Let's discuss the options, Captain Tupolev. We want to scan you but your shields are too strong. We know where your shield generator is, as well as the other vital systems. Your navigation control is severely disabled and you can't run away. We can target all your vital systems one by one. But if you lower your shields for 10 metrics we will get everything that we need and depart and in the meanwhile you can carry out your repairs."

The captain's brow furrowed while listening and then he nodded slightly and replied, "Well, Dal Zabor, I may not like it but you have earned it fair and square. I would hate to look like a poor loser. Congratulations on the warp tow, excellent job." He turned his head and ordered his tactician, "Commander, drop the shields!"

"But, Sir…" an indignant grumbling voice came somewhere from behind the captain.

"Do as I say, it is an order!" the captain's well-modulated baritone turned into a snarl and the Russian accent suddenly became more prominent.

"Thank you, Captain Tupolev. That way we can avoid unnecessary bloodshed," Zabor really appreciated his quick and intelligent reaction. He could imagine how humiliating this was for any captain.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

"Sir, I don't understand you, your actions can be qualified as collaboration in technical espionage…" Commander Sanders spluttered.

Tupolev's jaw set hard, it was time he taught the little prig a lesson. He ignored his outburst and addressed the Andorian science officer, "Junior Lieutenant ch'Vart, go to the engineering room and help our chief with the repairs."

He was going to strip Sanders of his illusions and hypocrisy, piece by piece, and wanted only the senior officers to witness it. Lieutenant Argona and Lieutenant Tivak exchanged knowing stares, they were going to enjoy another verbal crusade against the dogmas, shortsightedness and lack of imagination that were plaguing the young Starfleet officers.

The Betazoid had an immense risible faculty and foretasted a good clash. Besides, Sanders had overdone this time – first the blunder with the side array and then an open insubordination during a communication. The Vulcan would enjoy to listen to the logical arguments of both sides. He was absolutely sure about the outcome – Sanders was too emotional and ill-prepared so Tupolev would have him taunted until the guy begged for mercy, which was not likely.

When the Andorian left the bridge the captain sneered at Sanders, "I am sure you don't understand. They brainwash you at that Academy. You think that the Federation is everything, it is all you know. But there were times when the Federation didn't exist and there are places where the sentient species do not share your values and this does not makes them bad. They are simply different."

"Sir, they are the enemy, they are Cardassians, they have access to our technical data and when they analyze them, they might find a weak spot," Sanders opposed doggedly.

"Yes, that is true, that is why they need them," Tupolev willingly admitted the fact only to make his next blow even harsher, "And we have unique records or their tactics, maneuverability, beam lengths, sensor capacity, disruptor and torpedo readouts, shield frequency and, above all, their way of thinking. We witnessed how their mind worked – this is priceless. The best weapon is the mind, Commander. Didn't they teach you that at the Academy?"

Sanders was sweating and forced himself to take a deep breath and calm down, "Yes, sir. I see your point, I am sure that the data we gathered are valuable but still…Why did you allow them that…easily?"

The captain almost beamed with delight, he was goading the simpleton into responding and he was so predictable, "I calculated the options while you were infuriated. If we hadn't complied with their demand, they would have made a piece of Swiss cheese out of our hull, they would have targeted the generators and would have boarded us. We would have been captured and brought to Cardassia." He let it sink in and taunted, "Well, Commander Sanders, would you remind us of the peculiarities of the Cardassian interrogation?"

Sanders felt like kicking himself, he had not thought of this scenario. The idea that a Starfleet vessel would run out of options had never crossed his mind. "Well, captain, I have to admit that I did not think of that, and the Cardassian interrogation methods are extremely painful and effective."

"Yes, indeed," Tupolev smiled at him patronizingly, "Now, why don't you share with us your tactical appraisal of the following possibility – they capture us, destroy our comm system and drag the remains of the ship to Cardassia. Every detail would be painstakingly and meticulously dismantled, described and analyzed."

Sanders was forced to admit that this development would be much more disastrous in terms of technical espionage. Tupolev grinned savagely at the prospect, "Just imagine it, Commander, they could return to Cardassia as heroes, with a captured ship and prisoners of war for debriefing and exchange."

The hapless tactician nagged more for the sake of it, "And why do you think they won't do it anyway, we are at their mercy."

Tupolev shook his head, wondering at his ignorance, "If they wanted that, they wouldn't have bothered to contact us, they would just have continued shooting, our shields would have sustained 2-3 volleys but then…But they are soldiers, they know how it works."

"What exactly do they know?" Sanders inquired defiantly, he was a soldier too, and if it were up to him, he would have attacked the Cardassian ship when it was vulnerable. The captain had shot only one torpedo at them.

"If they kill us or capture us, the Starfleet will start reprisal acts against their ships which roam out of Cardassian space and will launch blockades against their peripheral colonies. So thousands of Cardassians will pay for their outburst of pride," Tupolev enumerated the options, destroying the waning argumentation of his opponent.

"Well, the Starfleet will persecute them anyway. But if they had us and the ship they would gain more and as you said they could exchange us…if they didn't kill us, of course," Sanders tersely pointed out, he was floundering in circles but refused to give up.

Tupolev laughed openly at his stubbornness and lack of perception, but it was sad in a way. Self-righteous, dogmatic boys like this one were the future of the Starfleet. They failed to see that war was just a continuation of politics and since politics was dirty by definition, it was the soldiers' common sense that could outbalance the odds.

Still laughing, he quizzed, "What do you know about the Cardassians, Commander?"

"What everybody knows – militaristic, expansionist, totalitarian, aggressive. Everyone but you. You like to view your enemies in an aura of old-time chivalry and romanticism that hardly fits the circumstances," Sanders saw a bleak chance to score a point and grabbed it.

Tupolev kept holding on to his original question as unyieldingly as a bulldog, "Any facts – skip the adjectives." This over-simplistic cornucopian dude was getting on his nerves with his cheerful naiveté.

"They occupied Bajor and use the local population as free labor force," the tactical officer announced gleefully.

"Yes, this sounds more like a fact, but I am afraid you have been kept in the dark about the real events that led to the Occupation of Bajor. In fact, the Bajoran government let them after several wrong moves in succession," the captain admitted and moved to his chair.

Tupolev sat on his chair, fully aware that all looks were riveted to him and he had the attention of his officers. He reminisced while watching the Cardassian ship circling around them, "Forty years ago as a young ensign I was on a ship whose mission was to make a formal first contact with the Bajorans and to assess their readiness to become part of the Federation. The Federation just wanted a foothold in the Bajoran sector – a trade negotiation, broad partnership agreement, space traffic easements involving an outpost, nothing much. The local politicians were isolationistic peasants who turned down the offer."

"Did they? I have heard that the colonists on Valo II have tried to contact the Federation and ask for help," Argona could not resist the temptation of getting insider information on Starfleet political games.

"Yes, they have tried but this is a recent development, they weren't that willing then. Anyway, several years later, in 2318, the Cardassians tried the same but this time a bunch of greedy opportunists let them through the back door. The Cardassians coaxed several local governors and talked them into an agreement for ores and minerals in exchange for technology and protection. So the real Occupation became a fact in 2328 and was ratified by a collaborating government headed by the same ambitious governors so we could not interfere."

Sanders butted in, he could not see why events which took place 40 years ago, should validate what was going on now, "Whatever, the bottom line is that they steal resources from Bajor and oppress the locals."

"Yes, they do it," Tupolev allowed, unperturbed, as though what the Cardassians did was a highly commendable deed. "The Bajorans frittered away their chances for better prospects and ended up with the worst scenario. 'It is immoral to let a sucker keep his money,' as Canada Bill Jones once said. We waved with a hand and departed, we could afford it, the Cardassians couldn't."

"In other words, you condone what the Cardassians do on Bajor, you condone evil, inhuman deeds," Sanders summarized emphatically, and cast a furtive glance at the other two officers hoping to elicit their support. Both officers were pretending to be checking something on their screens.

Tupolev did not answer immediately, relishing the ground zero of his disappointment and snubbed, "Good and evil are relative, abstract nouns void of meaning. What is good for us is bad for the Cardassians and vice versa. Besides, the face of evil is always the face of total need, Commander. Are you familiar with William Burroughs, a 20th-century American author?" He paused but actually, he knew the answer and taunted further, "Of course, you aren't. Well-bred Federation citizens don't want someone to remind them that deep down inside humanity isn't perfect."

The captain almost pitied this mass-product of the Federation establishment. He would lead an insignificant life, do mediocre job and would never learn to appreciate the irony and complexity of the universe around him.

"I am not familiar with this author and I don't see why I should. The Cardassians are our enemies, we are the Federation, this is what matters," he maintained stubbornly, he did not read books, he liked going to the holosuites.

"Yes, indeed. I am very happy you outlined our immediate priorities," the captain sneered and then furthered, "And speaking of the Federation, do you know who pays for this ship, Commander?"

"Of course I know, the Federation tax payers," Sanders proudly stated.

Tupolev nodded his consent and kept pressing, "Do the noble Federation tax payers go hungry in order to give us this ship?"

"No, Sir, of course they don't," the tactician readily answered. "No one in the Federation goes hungry."

"Yes, we must never forget that other worlds aren't that fortunate," the captain asserted. "Tell me, Commander, will the life standard of the Federation citizens drop if we don't claim and name several rocks in this sector?"

Sanders was on a familiar ground now, there were voices who argued that the Federation should refrain from expensive explorative missions and consolidate within its present borders. "Not exactly, Sir, but it is a matter of honor and tradition. We started as explorers, we are supposed to broaden our vistas."

Tupolev beamed at him, "Exactly. But it is quite different for the Cardassians. Their population goes hungry and expects the military to provide resources for them. Cardassia is a dead desert world, they replicate and ration even water. Their Military is like the ancient hunters – the whole tribe makes sacrifices so that the hunters are in good condition because they will bring the meat to the cave. These Cardassians on the Galor need the data to deserve their passage home."

Sanders did not know how to counter, he should have known better, the captain was leading him question after question to a trap that served his purposes. "Still, Sir, it is degrading to stand like that with lowered shields."

Tupolev agreed mockingly, "Yes, Commander, it is, I can't agree more. The dancing part is over and now they have pulled our panties down…Just relax, it won't hurt…much" The comm officer could not suppress her laughter and started giggling at the obscene metaphor. The Old Shattermouth was at his best.

Sanders finally caught on that politically or tactically Tupolev was no match for him and settled for protesting his cynical joke, "Sir, I find such a language on the bridge with a woman around quite inappropriate!"

"Women are people, too, Commander. They could use a joke now and then. We are soldiers after all, not duennas, and she is a soldier too," he waved his hand with an air of finality giving a sly wink to Lieutenant Argona.

The Vulcan decided to interfere and stop the argument. He observed with perfectly straight face apart from the ends of his mouth which curled slightly, "I find the analogy with the prehistoric hunters quite adequate and logical and the sexual connotation of the last remark fits the situation."

Sanders gave up, he felt betrayed, his colleagues had supported the captain as usual. That was why Tupolev would never be given a Constitution or Galaxy class vessel and had fallen from grace at the Utopia Planitia. He was a great captain but his political and philosophical stances were alarming, to put it mildly.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

"Dal, we have gathered the data," the comm officer reported.

Zabor acknowledged the report and turned to Glinn Reglan, "Glinn, warp 6 on coordinates 62-78 and maintain it for 15 metrics."

Hissar realized that he wanted to approach Cardassian space and stay away from Starbase 214. The dal contacted the chief engineer, "Dalin, come to the bridge." All bridge officers gathered and Dal Zabor addressed them, "As you probably realize, I can't return to Cardassia. The Obsidians will persecute me and my family. I will take a Hideki fighter and…desert."

Reglan nodded and pointed out, "Yes, Dal, but we have to make it credible. You got a nervous breakdown when you saw our beloved gul dead, and wanted to attack the Feds in order to revenge for our gul's death, you were about to compromise the data gathering. We tried to restrain you but you fought your way to the shuttle bays, boarded a Hideki, and went for the Miranda while we were scanning…"

Zabor looked at Reglan in amused astonishment, "Glinn Reglan, I have never expected what a potential writer of enigma tales is hidden behind your meticulous adherence to the protocol … It sounds so credible and heroic."

Makar butted in grumpily, "Don't be that happy, Dal. We blew you out to prevent the mission being compromised. Besides, your actions qualify as an unauthorized use of military equipment. We will pulverize several spare bulkheads and containers of Hideki spare parts so that if they check the coordinates they will find plenty of debris." Then he soured even further, "My heart is bleeding, what a waste…"

They all laughed; the engineering humor was like nothing else in the universe.

Hissar remarked reassuringly, "Probably the forthcoming investigation will make dalin Makar get over the loss more easily…"

The dalin grunted, "Your concern is touching. What do you know about the spare parts? They are like children to me." Then he waved his hand in a dismissive gesture, "Ignorant tacticians, you just switch menus on your consoles…"

The dal was watching the exchange of banter and deliberating the suggested plot line. It was credible enough for someone who was not going to delve into it. He was fully aware that a dedicated investigating team would detect too many inconsistencies and suggested, "When I depart, erase the logs for our shift and attach the trace to the comm system files. It will look as though the activation of the level 9 protocol has botched the log files and caused a data failure."

Gil Jorvan reminded the dal, "What about the B-shift, they must be here in 60 metrics?"

The glinn quickly explained, "We are the A-shift and remain on duty until the emergency settles down, I will notify them to stay to their quarters. I have already circulated a message about our gul's death."

On saying that, he contacted the glinn in charge of the B-shift and told him to keep his team to their quarters until further notice.

"Yes, and the B- and C-shift owe us a drink as well," the dalin added, "Tell them that too, Glinn."

Reglan curled his lips at his remark; the B- and C-shift should be truly giddy with joy because Gul Sartan had the courtesy of dying when the A-shift was on the bridge. In fact, he and the dal pulled the B-shift, too, making sure one of them was always there in case the gul needed to torment someone. The glinn in charge of the C-shift was instructed to notify Zabor or Reglan immediately if something did not seem right.

Hissar could not figure out what a Cardassian would do alone without the comforting thought that someone was waiting for him home, that his arrival was eagerly anticipated. Cardassians were not cosmopolitan by nature, they did not adjust easily to alien surroundings and did not mingle with other species unless forced by the circumstances. "What about you, Dal? Where are you going?"

The dal sensed the gravity and concern behind the question and replied with a studied lightness, he did not want to make it more complicated than it was, "To some neutral world, or not a very populated planet where the females are hospitable, I guess." Then he silenced embarrassed and mumbled to the female gil, "Sorry, Gil, I was joking, I didn't mean…"

She smiled at him forgivingly as though he was a naughty child, "Don't worry, Dal. Boys will be boys. I am used to this type of humor." Then she addressed the other officers, "When we return to Cardassia, we will be questioned and debriefed. We have to work out our version, memorize it carefully, and stick to it."

Zabor nodded, he approved of her suggestion, it was the trickiest part, "That's right. Like in a good enigma tale. When they debrief you, they ask you the same questions, slightly paraphrased, over and over again, hoping that you will slip and say something different from what you have already told them."

"So what is the final version, Dal?" the dalin asked. He was a practical man, his engineering mind was conditioned to expect that correct input data guaranteed correct output.

The dal started, everybody was straining their memories to remember even the slightest detail, "When we approached the Miranda, I flashed the alarm signal and the gul activated the level 9 protocol. Then Glinn Reglan noticed that the navigation system didn't react properly while we were circling around the Federation vessel. He reported to me and I contacted Dalin Makar to check what was going on. None of us knew what exactly the gul and the captain talked about. After that, Gil Hissar and I complained that our consoles were inoperational. The dalin reported and told us that the level 9 protocol partially blocked other systems. The gul ordered us to aim, I explained what the problem was, and he deactivated the protocol. Gil Hissar produced a disruptor blast ordered by the gul and supervised by me. We hit the target but their shields held on. Is everything clear so far?"

"Yes, Dal, everything is consistent," the glinn confirmed and the other officers nodded.

Zabor continued, "Then they shot a torpedo at us, our gul ordered an escape maneuver which we performed successfully and he suddenly returned to his office visibly shattered and shocked. We kept circling around the Federation vessel and I contacted him to give us orders. He did not answer so I went to his office to report. I found him dead, with a hypospray in his hand and called medic Verak. You saw him enter the gul's office and I came out and informed you about his death."

He smiled wryly and threw in, "You noticed that I didn't look well when I left his office. I was stuttering, losing my train of thought, disoriented."

"Yes, indeed, you loved our gul so much," Reglan acquiesced, brimming over with gloat.

Zabor smirked and resumed, "Then I gathered myself and ordered Hissar to shoot at their superstructure because this was where their main armament was. After the first volley they jumped to warp, we followed them, Hissar suggested a warp tow and requested re-calibration of the warp core. I approved of it and contacted Dalin Makar to make the necessary corrections according to the data sent by the comm and conn stations. We carried it out and they dropped to impulse speed without navigation and shields."

Then he silenced for a second and cautioned, "The fun starts here. I ordered Hissar to blast the ship while we were scanning it. Glinn Reglan and Hissar tried to talk me out of it, anticipating a punitive act from Starbase 214. I was raving that we had to revenge for our gul's death. Glinn Reglan considered my behavior irrational and applied Proviso 37. You both escorted me and confined me to my quarters and left Gil Jorvan to scan the ship."

He was improvising and stopped to think of a credible development. He had to limit it to the bridge officers and no one else, "It was too embarrassing and degrading – that's why you didn't want to involve other crew members. The medic was busy examining Gul Sartan's body so you decided to wait hoping I will get better. Several metrics later, you elected to check my condition and opened the door but I attacked you, grabbed Reglan's phaser and ran for the nearest shuttle bay. He stopped and looked at Hissar, "You both started chasing me and our expert in martial arts got me in front of the air lock and we started kicking and hitting each other."

Hissar did not want to imagine what it would be to fight someone like Zabor for real. The martial arts could save your life and buy you some time to run away or get your weapon but beating a huge opponent with military training was almost impossible. "I guess, I didn't win," he opined sheepishly.

Zabor smiled and reassured him, "No, you didn't but you did your best. You managed to wrest the phaser from my hand and Reglan, who was on the floor with a broken nose, grabbed it, and trained it on me. He produced a blast that hit the wall but he didn't want to shoot more because he was afraid of shooting you."

Then the dal turned his gaze to the poor glinn who paled with the prospect of having his nose broken, "I saw Reglan with the phaser, punched Hissar in the nose and threw him over Reglan so he could not aim properly. Then I jumped into the air lock sealing it off with my second-in-command code and boarded the Hideki fighter. Reglan and Hissar returned to the bridge and saw I was approaching the Starfleet vessel for an attack run, I didn't answer your warning so Reglan ordered Hissar to blow me out."

Everybody nodded their consent and Reglan clarified, "We blasted you here, at these coordinates, Dal. By the time the investigation starts, the warp signature of the Miranda will have dissipated anyway and they won't be able to prove whether it was here or not so they will find out only debris…"

Zabor affirmed, "Exactly. Now I will give you a special subspace frequency that Gul Larvan left with me last time when we were investigated." He pronounced eleven numbers and letters distinctly and instructed Reglan, "Fill the channel with static interference and make it recursive."

He looked at everyone to emphasize his next point, "Make sure he sends a team – an investigator, a coroner, forensic and ballistic analysts. Arrange a rendezvous point shortly before you enter Cardassian space, request the identity of the representatives beforehand, and check their retinal profiles and DNA patterns on boarding. Any mismatch will mean that the Obsidians have intercepted the message and have replaced the original team with their own agents."

Then his grave expression lightened and he remarked airily, "I wish my mother were here, she would make you rehearse until you are good enough for the grand theatre. Still, Glinn Reglan and Gil Hissar are our stars and Dalin Makar and Gil Jorvan are the supporting cast."

Gil Jorvan sensed he was trying to end the briefing on a positive note, smiled at him facetiously, and pursed her lips like an underrated prima donna, "Objection, Dal. I look much better than those two…"

Hissar and Reglan exchanged amused stares, the dalin snorted, "Women…go figure," and Zabor smiled, his mother would react the same way.

He shrugged his shoulders and explained, "Well, Gil, acting sometimes involves stunt work, so Gil Hissar will beat Glinn Reglan black and blue…" He glanced at Hissar, "Don't forget to break his nose."

The glinn started blinking like a traffic beacon out of order while the dal kept directing them, "Glinn Reglan must do the same, but I have a gut feeling that he can't bring himself to do it so I grant you permission to beat Hissar properly. It is an order." He fixed his gaze on Reglan and Hissar, who exchanged dismal glimpses under their eyeridges, "You two must look really bad, blue marks of kicks all over your bodies, black eyes, swollen ridges. Otherwise they might suspect that you let me go…"

The dalin tuned in, calculating all aspects of the problem, "All my life I have dreamt of beating a tactician, they ruin the systems and devices and then I have to fix them, you know…Dal, consider it done."

Hissar only groaned and jested, "Gil Jorvan, if you still want the main part it is all yours…"

She chaffed back, waving her hands in exaggerated denial, "No, on second thought, no, really not. But I will help Dalin Makar. What is the supporting cast for…"

Zabor really hoped that this time the Central Command would seize the opportunity and protect the crew, "Once the Central Command takes over the vessel, I reckon the Obsidians will drop the case because their guy has embarrassed them. The investigator, the medic and the coroner will find plenty of evidence that he was addicted. Still, their agents will keep sniffing around. I expect that the Central Command will reassign you to other vessels and will keep a tab on you."

The dalin interfered, "Dal, I think I have to go and prepare your Hideki fighter, it will be ready in 15 metrics, you can't take your belongings, they will remain in your quarters, you know…"

Zabor sighed, there was not anything valuable but still the irreversibility pervaded him, he would never go to his quarters, sleep in his bunk, and sit drink at his table.

"Yes, you are right", he confirmed and called Hissar and Reglan, "Let's go through all movements of the battle scene."

They went to his quarters where he took only a holopicture of his parents and brother and his crate of kanar. Hissar felt like crying, after 15 years of service, that was all you had – a holopicture of relatives who lived thousands of light years away and a bottle of kanar. Was that all?

They tampered the electronic lock of the door, left their fingerprints on it and headed for the nearest shuttle bay banging into the walls to leave DNA prints. The dal stuck Sartan's phaser in his holster, it was too risky to leave it on the ship, and held Reglan's phaser, so that the investigators could find his DNA on it. They shot at the wall paneling, left plenty of fingerprints, and repeated the fight in slow motion.

Several metrics later Dalin Makar came out of the maintenance entrance for the shuttle bay and told Zabor, "Dal, your Hideki is ready, I have checked and loaded everything myself. You have plenty of spare parts, tools, camp equipment, medicines, bone and tissue regenerators, tricorders, scanning devices, emitters, batteries, power cells, weapons for the Hideki, rifles and phasers, a charging device for batteries and power cells, energy converters, clothes, two spare armors, all field rations aboard this ship… In fact, you can found your own colony."

"Thank you, Dalin. Are you sure Glinn Reglan can live with such a violation of the provision regulations?" the dal asked and looked at the nervous glinn.

"Well, I am afraid I have lost the invoices for these batches," the glinn blinked with feign demureness. Zabor and Makar almost rolled with laughter and Hissar raised an eyeridge at Jorvan who had just arrived from the bridge.

Zabor clarified, "He never loses anything, his archive is an example of precision and effectiveness." He grabbed four bottles from his crate and handed them to his officers, "Have this on me, folks. I will miss you." Then he winked at Hissar and Reglan, "You will definitely need it, after the beating."

Then he took his crate, turned around and stepped toward the airlock. Glinn Reglan uttered, his tone somewhat shaky, "Dal, I am proud of having the opportunity to serve under you."

"Yes, Dal, thank you for…everything," Gil Jorvan added, trying hard to drive back her tears, she really did not want to give the men a reason to consider her a weak female.

The dal hesitated, he did not want to turn around, the more quickly he went through this, the better. He composed his features and smiled at them, hiding his uneasiness behind a casual tone, "Thank you. I am very proud of you. You are the best crew ever. Don't make anything I wouldn't do. Daddy is leaving, take care of yourselves."

Then Zabor stepped over, the first air lock closed behind him and he reprogrammed it from his side. The officer glanced at them over his shoulder, straightened himself, and passed the second air lock that separated the shuttle bay. He entered his command code that overrode the bridge commands and enabled him to activate the hatch door mechanism and the force field from the Hideki fighter.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Gil Hissar was sitting behind a desk in the reception room in front of Gul Larvan's office at the Military Academy. Cadets were coming in and leaving, handing their padds with assignments and term projects or requesting information on the gul's visiting hours. About a year and a half earlier, he had been one of them – cheerful and optimistic.

It had been three months of investigation, questions, and debriefing sessions, repeating the same thing over and over again. Fortunately, everything happened under the auspices of the Central Command and Gul Larvan in particular. The reconnaissance data they had brought were too valuable to let the case to the Obsidians. Besides, they were military by nature, so the Obsidians did not have a pretext to interfere. In fact, they kept a low profile and did not send even a representative during the debriefings although the rumors that this was an Obsidian vessel ran rife on the sidelines of the Central Command Building. The gul's suicide and the revelation about his addiction were a fiasco and as the saying goes, the failure is an orphan.

Gil Jorvan and Dalin Makar were soon reassigned to other vessels, but he and Glinn Reglan were considered too branded to be dealt that easily. No one wanted people whose military record said that their last gul was an addict who committed suicide and then they had to restrain and blast the second-in- command, who went nuts. It sounded like a mutiny, who would like mutineers on their ship even if they could perform a warp tow, Hissar thought while watching the carefree cadets.

His dossier was stained forever – he was part of the Miranda incident as the investigation board called it. In order to keep the matter sub rosa, Gul Larvan had taken them as personal aides, they lived in the cadet campus and were advised to refrain from contacting their families. It had been particularly hard for Reglan who had a wife and two children.

Gul Larvan contacted him, "Come inside, Gil Hissar." He entered the office carrying the padds he had just received. Glinn Reglan was sitting behind a desk, reading the assignments and marking them in accordance with Gul Larvan's list of marking criteria.

The old gul was very delighted with his effectiveness and organization – all assignments were read and marked, copies were sent to the Academy archive database. It was so good to have someone reliable to do these mundane chores for you and listen to the cadet's questions patiently; they could come up with so many absurd questions. He was born to be an inquisitor and what was more, Gul Larvan doubted that his stress level allowed for active duty. The poor guy had managed the flying menagerie of the crazy Obsidian for 10 years, he deserved a quiet life with his family.

The stately old Cardassian with graying hair tore his gaze from the window facing the Academy yard and regarded Gil Hissar who had snapped to attention with the padds in his hands. He rumbled in his old-fashioned patriarch-like voice, "Gil Hissar, it has come to my understanding that I need to include more information about Bajor in my lectures. Prepare your bag, we are catching the next transport to Bajor and we are going to do a field study there. The prefect is a good friend of mine."

"Yes, Gul, I will be back in ten metrics," Hissar readily confirmed. He was happy, anything was preferable to being a clerk, it was so boring.

The young officer left the padds on Reglan's desk and quickly left the room. Gul Larvan went to his desk, pressed his fingers onto the lock that was programmed to his fingerprints and opened a small in-built cabinet. He took out four padds and left them on Reglan's desk. "Glinn Reglan, the information on these padds is insignificant and I have committed it to memory anyway so erase them, I will need a lot of padds for my study."

"Yes, Gul," Reglan calmly replied. He activated the first padd and blinked when he saw the content but the order was an order so he dutifully erased the information.

Gul Larvan figured out what exactly had happened the moment when Reglan contacted him on that very special and secure channel which was separated from the standard communication arrays. He himself had given the code to the dal so he must have given it to the glinn. The subspace channel was secured and maintained by the Fifth Order, the Military Intelligence, and their codes were difficult to break. The Fifth Order provided the coroner, the forensic and ballistic analysts and Legate Brokon, the head of the Fifth Order, had sent his right hand – Gul Tejar – to carry out the investigation.

He sighed while wondering what to do with the young gil. It was ironic, he was teaching the warp tow maneuver in the tactical classes, it was named after him – Hissar's tow – but no one wanted the boy. The gul had decided to keep Reglan, he was an administrative treasure and a prospective reader; the cadets adored his blinking.

However, the gil was too young and talented to be wasted as a clerk. Dukat was his last chance. Gul Larvan had once, as a Legate, supported his nomination for a prefect against Gul Darhe'el who was Legate Kell's choice. Legate Brokon had voted for Dukat too so he had to return the favor and take care of the boy. And the boy was clever and diligent so Dukat could only benefit from the deal.

After 25 hours' journey on a cram-full freighter carrying personnel and equipment to Bajor, they stepped on the station. It was early evening according to the rotation cycle of the station; the B shift was finishing its duty in an hour or rather a bell. Hissar recalled that 60 metrics were called a bell in Bajoran. It was magnificent, a true masterpiece of Cardassian engineering and brand new – some sectors still needed furnishing and fixings. The gul's aide was waiting for them and led them straight to Gul Dukat's office next to ops.

The name did not ring a bell to Hissar. Gul Larvan had briefed him on the freighter that he was the person who secured Bajor to Cardassia by capturing a Tzenkethi marauder first and then planning and carrying out a brilliant undercover attack against Bajor and its reprisal fleet.

His commander hated him for being too clever and independent, so he arranged his career to be hobbled and he was assigned a governor of the Letau prison facility. Only recently had they come to realize that Bajor required a more expert handling and brought him back hoping that he would compensate for their mistakes or at least pay the price if the situation got out of control.

Hissar was wary, he did not know what to expect, despite Gul Larvan's assurances that the Prefect was polished, cultured, notoriously lenient, and he valued the performance and intelligence of his officers much more than going strictly by the book. He did not want to build any preconceptions before seeing the man for himself and serving some time under him. He decided to be detached and formal, he was not going even to look at him.

Gul Larvan left Hissar in ops and entered the Prefect's office. While waiting Hissar watched the officers in ops, the atmosphere was quite relaxed, they just gave him several glances of polite interest, but he could not sense fear or tension in their movements and voices. People behind neighboring consoles even exchanged some informal remarks.

Twenty metrics later, he was called and came in. Gul Larvan had settled into a sofa next to the big desk and was poking about a huge heap of padds, switching them on and checking the content. There was an oval window hatch behind the desk and standing next to it, Hissar saw the Prefect.

The man radiated dominance and presence, he simply captivated the attention, everything else seemed insignificant. Not that he was frightening or threatening, on the contrary he turned to Hissar with a polite smile. He looked the same age as Gul Sartan, about 55-60, an inch or two higher than Hissar, thin and wiry, quite seemly but not overly bland. There was something edgy about him on subconscious level, he commanded respect and obedience without even having to require them, a native-born leader.

He addressed Hissar in a tone of well-intentioned magnanimity, "Welcome to Terok Nor, Gil Hissar. I am Gul Dukat and I am the Prefect of Bajor. I will be very happy to have you as part of my team, Gul Larvan speaks highly of you, and I value his recommendations."

He had the same accent like Zabor, slow and well measured, Hissar noticed while wondering what honorific to use – Gul or Prefect. "Thank you, Prefect," he opted for Prefect, there were many guls so Prefect had to be more distinguishing. He forced himself to divert his gaze from the man and to stare at the hatch window.

Gul Larvan took several padds from the small table before him, stood up and told Dukat, "Well, Prefect, it has been a pleasure seeing you again. Thank you for these quarterly reports. I am sure that the data in them will make my cadets aware of the vital importance of the Bajoran Annexation."

The Prefect, obviously flattered, replied, "You are welcome, Gul Larvan. It gives me an immense pleasure to find out that there are still perceptive statesmen on Cardassia who recognize the strategic role of this endeavor." The guy definitely could talk, Hissar observed, fascinated by the well-modulated voice which turned the dull officialese into a real message.

The Prefect was gallantly escorting the old gul to the door when shortly before leaving, Gul Larvan turned to Dukat as though he had suddenly remembered something, "Oh, Prefect, you will forgive the old man…It is so embarrassing to confess it but my memory is not what it used to be…147 years are 147 years, it can't be helped," he observed self-depreciatingly and continued, "I erased Gil Hissar's military record by mistake while I was preparing my padds for putting new data on them. If it is not too much of a trouble, I hope you can issue a new military record for him."

The Prefect smirked subtly, letting the other man know that he had got the hint, patted the gul's shoulder comfortingly, and promised willingly, "Rest assured, Gul Larvan. I can only stand in awe of the load of information you have had to process in the course of your long and productive service to Cardassia. I will issue a new record for the gil. You will simply send me the data on his missions before CUV "Morlok" so Terok Nor and Bajor will be his next assignment."

This was ridiculous, Hissar couldn't believe his ears. Each Cardassian had the ability to bring back information and particulars in their memories. It was like replaying a tape in slow motion stopping and zooming up when you come across the detail you needed. Of course, this ability varied with different individuals and depended on the trade and educational status but still forgetting and not paying attention to details was frowned upon.

He realized that the old gul had humiliated himself with this stupid excuse that even a school boy without homework would consider too incredible only to save his career and to give him a new chance. At the same time, Dukat was trying to make it easy for the old man by showing him that he was fully committed to the task.

The Prefect suggested eloquently, "Speaking of Terok Nor, I take it you did not have the time to have a tour around the station, so if you are not too tired we could meet in 30 metrics and I hope you will grant me the privilege of showing you around myself. I would appreciate if you could bring me up to speed on some recent developments on our homeworld as well. As usual, your political acumen is indispensable. In the meantime my aide will show you to your quarters."

This was the first person in Hissar's life who could talk more copiously than his mother. The important thing was that he was safe, just like that, while two powerful men were exchanging trivial platitudes at the door. Finally, Gul Larvan left the office after promising to come back in 30 metrics and have dinner with the Prefect after the tour.

Dukat returned to his desk, sat behind, and remarked in passing, "Well, Gil, unfortunately we can't include your warp tow story in your new record but I am sure that Gul Larvan will keep retelling it to the cadets…"

"Yes, Prefect," Hissar managed, he could not understand whether he was supposed to say something or to remain silent but since the Prefect had addressed him by rank he decided he had to muster up an answer. The man looked quite amicable and civilized but one never knows with guls.

Then his face expression turned serious and sharp, "I suppose you are wondering what your next assignment will involve so I will outline briefly your duties. You will be a liaison officer between me and the surface administration. You will have to visit garrisons, mining facilities, labor camps, and refugee camps and evaluate their conditions and efficiency. You will be in contact with the province guls, camp overseers, and Militia commanders and I expect detailed reports on every place you visit as well as your impressions and recommendations on what measures should be taken if the performance and the conditions are in want of improvement."

He silenced and looked at Hissar who curtly answered, "Yes, Prefect." The prefect curled his lips at the persistent obstinacy of the young officer to adopt a more relaxed attitude. It was understandable having in mind what Larvan had told him about CUV "Morlok." He obviously intended to remain deferential and formal.

Dukat continued, unperturbed, "You probably think that the Prefect is omnipotent and can do whatever he wants." He silenced and his gaze dropped to his fingers. Then he lifted his eyes to Hissar, with a bitter smile. "In fact, I am a supervisor and I don't have a hands-on involvement in the actual events. The surface administration makes the decisions on an everyday basis and I am afraid that far too often these decisions do not contribute to our goal here, namely, providing Cardassia with much-needed resources. In order to achieve this we have to make Bajor a peaceful place and establish a good working relationship with the locals. I am fully aware that there are many undesired spontaneous acts of violence down there, and unfortunately, my administration often fuels them instead of settling them. Consequently, they send me a report full of airs and graces and cheap justifications, which are nothing but petty attempts to dump the responsibility at my door."

He paused and drawled emphatically, "I am sick and tired of receiving their ill-suited excuses with the morning bulletin so you will be my eyes and ears on the surface. I want the real facts – no put-ons, no euphemisms, no embellishments. You will also carry out investigations into acts of violence and reprisal, embezzlement and fraud involving Cardassians and Bajorans and will try to mediate the problem in an acceptable way."

He looked steadily at Hissar, indicating that this was the end of the briefing and Hissar dutifully replied, "Yes, Prefect."

The Perfect easily switched to his informal relaxed mode and added, "You must be tired, 25 hours on a freighter, so my aide will show you to your quarters. Tomorrow at 08:00 I expect you to be here and I will instruct you on the details of your first task."

"Yes, Prefect, I will," Hissar confirmed and glanced at the door waiting to be dismissed. The gul made a dismissive gesture to the door but kept his penetrating gaze on Hissar so he felt compelled to sidestep to the door keeping an eye contact with the high-ranking officer.

Dukat yielded his stare and remarked, "I also hope that one day you will tell me the real story, not that this one is bad, on the contrary, it is absolutely credible…" He paused, leaned back, and added with unnerving cocky smile, "But I am simply curious."

The young gil felt the corners of his mouth go up despite his best efforts to maintain his grim and unemotional countenance. This gul reminded him of Zabor, he was so unusual so he mumbled, "Yes, Prefect, I will."

While following the aide who was leading him to his quarters, Hissar thought amusedly that his mother had been right after all. He was going to write reports.


End file.
